When the Wind is Southerly  Season 6
by MissBates
Summary: Alternate interpretation of the events of Season 6. When House returns from Mayfield still hallucinating, Wilson and Cuddy do their best to keep this sad truth from him. Will they succeed? Humour, no pairings. Chapter 4 up, Season 6 complete. R&R, please.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

There are events in House MD that will never cease to amaze me, no matter how often I watch the episode concerned. For example, my mind will not bend around the fact that House, scientist _par excellence_, switched papers with a fellow student while in med school so as to prove that his professor's grading was prejudiced, but never checked whether that fellow student got a better or worse grade than he did. Does that sound like House to you, dear Reader?

This fic tries to explain some of these seeming inconsistencies by re-interpreting the events of Season 6. Depending on how the current season develops on-screen, there will also be a Season 7 in due time.

My thanks to **flywoman_returns** for suggestions and corrections and to **Brighid45** for acting as my beta despite having more than enough on her plate at the moment.

**Let us assume, dear Reader, that House returns from Mayfield detoxed and drug-free, but unfortunately still hallucinating …**

**

* * *

I Broken**

_Acquaints the Reader with the circumstances that prevail upon House to return to the surroundings that formerly nourished his addiction._

A gentle knock, then Wilson's head appeared in the door of Cuddy's office. "Are you busy?"

"No, come in, I'll be done in a moment." Cuddy closed the file she was working on and looked at Wilson with a smile. "What can I do for you?"

Wilson hesitated, then he plunged in. "I went to Mayfield yesterday."

Cuddy's smile remained on her lips, but faded from her eyes. "Oh, right. How is House?"

"Fine, actually. He's doing really well. The anti-depressants are kicking in and he's finally cooperating with their pain management expert, so ... yes, he's doing great."

"That's great news. When can I expect him back?" Wilson looked apologetic. "He doesn't **want** to come back, right?" Wilson was silent. "Fair enough, and it probably makes sense. Has he found some other hospital that'll help him get his licence back?"

"Uh, no. Not yet."

Cuddy leaned forward. "Wilson, he's been gone for over three months. HR is all over my back, and so's the board. I can pay him his salary a few months longer, but I need to either fill his position or disband the department. If he isn't back in two weeks working on his accreditation I'll give his job to Foreman."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck before he met Cuddy's eyes again. "There's a problem."

"What is it?"

"He ... he's still hallucinating."

"I thought that stopped after he detoxed."

Wilson shrugged. "Apparently not."

"So what's causing it if not the vicodin?"

"They don't know."

"Well, he can't come back until they've fixed it."

"It's fairly harmless, really. He's got an imaginary buddy named Alfie." Wilson thought a moment. "Or Alvie." Cuddy rolled her eyes. "**I** used to have an imaginary buddy when I was a kid."

"Wilson, he's fifty, not five! I'm sorry. I can try to wrangle HR into paying him a bit longer." Cuddy narrowed her eyes at Wilson. "Wait. You weren't** seriously** expecting me to take him back as long as he's hallucinating, were you?"

"No. Actually, I came to tell you that he'll be leaving Mayfield and moving in with me."

"Even though he isn't stable yet?"

"Nolan says that this may be as good as it gets." Wilson watched as Cuddy's eyes widened in shock that was gradually displaced by dismay, then by sadness.

"If this is about his medical expenses - he's still insured through the hospital and will continue to be, even when he's on unpaid leave."

"No. ... Mayfield wants to transfer him to another institution. It's in Pittsburgh and it's - I don't think it's suitable."

"Nolan agreed to release him into your care?" Cuddy's voice was tinged with disbelief.

Wilson said somewhat defensively, "House checked himself in voluntarily. He can check himself out any time."

Cuddy wasn't fooled. "What did he do?"

"There was an incident with a patient's sister-in-law. He thought that he, ah, had sex with her."

"Forgive me for not feeling particularly sorry for her. He's hardly likely to have announced it all over **her** workplace."

"Well, no. He snagged or forged an overnight pass and turned up at her home instead. Her husband was not amused. Nolan had a tough time persuading him that House was not to be taken seriously. The marriage took a beating and the patient is being transferred to another institution. It's been bad for Mayfield's reputation. Other patients' families are considering removing their loved ones, so Nolan wants House out."

"That's ridiculous! The husband must be an idiot! No institution would let a patient start anything with a visitor."

"Absolutely. Nolan assures me they only met under close observation in the ward common room. Seems she 'bewitched' him with her piano playing." Wilson sketched quotation marks in the air.

"Why are you telling me all this? What happened to patient confidentiality?"

"I'm not his doctor; I'm his friend. I thought I'd warn you."

"Wilson, you're not bringing him here!"

"No, of course not." Wilson tried to look as though the thought had never crossed his mind, but failed miserably.

"I will **not** have him causing havoc in my hospital. Half the staff believed his announcement - I'm still living it down."

"That's ... I'm sorry." Wilson's eyes moved to Cuddy's cleavage, and then back to Cuddy's face. The message was clear: it wasn't **all** on House.

Cuddy backed down. "Don't be - it's not your fault."

"Well, I guess I'd better be going."

"Wilson?"

"Say 'hi' to House from me."

"Right."

**

* * *

II Epic Fail**

_In which Cuddy offers to babysit while Foreman is forced into it._

"Did you manage to look in on House today?" Wilson hovered uncertainly in the door of Cuddy's office.

"Yes. I took an extended lunch break."

"Thanks. I really couldn't manage today - patients, oncology department meeting."

"It was okay, really. Don't feel bad about it." Cuddy smiled reassuringly at Wilson and put her pen down. "Look, ever since House left PPTH, I have had more than enough time on my hands."

"Liar," Wilson noted. Nevertheless, he entered the office and sat down opposite Cuddy. "How was he?"

"Fine," Cuddy said. She added somewhat inconsequentially, "He was making gnocchi."

"Great." Wilson mustered Cuddy. "And you? I mean, it must have been awkward, seeing him for the first time since he ... left."

Cuddy flushed slightly. "No, no. He knows he hallucinated all **that**; he was open and frank about it."

"Good." There was a long silence. Wilson made no move to rise.

Cuddy dropped her eyes and fiddled with her pen. Then she took a deep breath. "He was talking to someone."

"Oh."

"A Chinese woman. From your cooking course?"

"Oh, her. Yes." Wilson made no attempt to help Cuddy out.

"It's, well, disconcerting when he talks to someone who isn't there."

"One gets used to it." Wilson managed to make it sound as though he were talking about an irritating habit, such as leaving towels on the bathroom floor or channel surfing.

Cuddy bit her lip. "I suppose so. ... Does she exist?"

"The Chinese woman? No. ... The cooking course is real, though."

"Well, **that's** comforting."

Foreman had barely picked up the first patient file from the clinic desk when Cuddy's voice cut across the clinic. "Dr Foreman, into my office, please." She stood leaning against the door of her office, her arms folded over her chest.

Foreman raised his eyebrows, but complied. Cuddy let him pass her and closed the door behind him. She gestured at the chair in front of the desk, sitting down on her chair before she spoke again. "Congratulations on solving your first case."

"Thank you." Foreman smirked.

"Although I heard that **you** didn't solve it."

Foreman' smile faded. "We're a team, Dr Cuddy. That was no different when House was here."

"I meant: your **team** didn't solve it. Your patient's online advisers did."

"It's normal to get impulses from other sources: medical books, journals, and nowadays the internet. It's **how** you use the information that's decisive."

Cuddy leaned forward. "We're not talking information here. We're talking about a correct diagnosis based solely on the information your patient put on the net, a diagnosis your team was incapable of reaching despite full access to the patient and his test results."

"If this had happened to House, I doubt you'd be complaining," Foreman pointed out.

"If I put one of those off-hour hackers from the IT department onto it, I'm sure that he'll be able to track down the source of your diagnosis."

"So?" A lesser man might have added, 'what!'

"However, I'm willing to make an educated guess myself: he was probably logging in from Hamilton Avenue, Princeton." Clearly, that piece of information meant nothing to Foreman, although he looked slightly uneasy for the first time. Cuddy elucidated, "That's where Wilson lives."

Realisation dawned slowly like the sun after an Antarctic Winter.

"And where House is staying at the moment," Cuddy continued. (House would have added, 'Ker-chunk!')

"**Starting** Monday, House will be sitting in on your differentials." Cuddy's tone was all business.

"In what capacity?"

"As a consultant." At Foreman's questioning look she added, "He hasn't got a licence at present."

"So when he gets his accreditation I lose the department."

"That's an issue you don't need to worry about just now." Cuddy seemed to think that the papers cluttering her desk needed a reshuffling.

"I think I do. How long can it take him to get his 120 hours?"

"House won't be doing his hours."

Something in her voice made Foreman look up sharply. "Why not?"

Now Cuddy's hesitation was tangible. "Health issues."

"The only issues that could prevent House from regaining his licence are ones that impair his judgment - he's still hallucinating?" Foreman's eyes widened.

Cuddy was silent.

"Look, can't he consult from home? Do we have to have him here? He could be a hazard."

"He's driving Wilson crazy: cooking non-stop, playing his guitar in the middle of the night, re-organising the household. Wilson is sleep-deprived and on the verge of a collapse. I can't afford to lose two department heads in one year."

"You're asking me to babysit him."

"I'm not **asking** you, Dr Foreman."

"And if I refuse?" Foreman leaned back and crossed his arms in turn.

"Then I close down the department. I'm sure I can place the others in other departments at the hospital."

They stared at each other. Foreman was the first to drop his eyes. He rose with an exasperated huff.

"Good," Cuddy said as she picked up her pen.

**

* * *

III The Tyrant, Instant Karma, Brave Heart**

_Wherein Wilson explains some of the goings-on at the hospital to Cuddy, who then makes a hasty decision._

"Can I sit down at your table?"

Wilson looked up from his food. Cuddy loomed over him, a tray with a plate of salad and a bottle of water in her hands. He pulled his tray towards himself to make room. "Sure."

Cuddy sat down and picked up her fork. "You're looking better. Relaxed."

"It's been a lot easier on me now that House is back here at the hospital."

"But not for me. He's driving both his team and my staff insane." She impaled a leaf of buttercruncb.

"He's always done that," Wilson pointed out.

"There's always been a **reason**, even if it was one only he could understand, but now ..."

"I'm sure there's an explanation for everything."

Cuddy waved her fork at Wilson. "Fine, explain! He ruined Dr Hadley's vacation by cancelling her flight."

"Ummm, he thinks Foreman fired her. By cancelling her flight he's trying to keep her here. You know how much he hates change." This was Wilson's 'oncologist' voice, the one in which he explained to mothers of three young children that the purpose of their chemo treatment was purely palliative.

"But she's coming back! She's just on vacation for two weeks. Foreman didn't fire her - why should he?" Wilson shrugged non-committally. "Why didn't you tell him that Foreman hasn't fired her? Why are you letting him believe his hallucinations?"

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried. In the end it was easier booking Thirteen a new flight."

Cuddy huffed in exasperation. "You can't keep shielding him from himself. He needs to **know**."

"I know, but I prefer to choose my battles with care."

Cuddy threw up her hands. "Fine - he's **your** responsibility, not mine! What about Chase and Cameron? Cameron's come to me complaining that he's been harassing them with insensitive comments."

Wilson picked his words with care. "He's finding it difficult to accept that they've split up."

"You mean he believes that they got married."

""Well, ... yeah." The skin at the back of Wilson's neck was beginning to wear thin.

"Oh, for chrissake, Wilson! Anyone could see that it wasn't going to happen. Even Chase is not fool enough to marry Cameron when she has the hots for House."

"What can I say? He's an incurable romantic who likes to think that he brought them together."

"But he can't be blind to the fact that they're basically avoiding each other now."

"No, so the explanation he's concocted is that Chase killed Dibala and is now avoiding Cameron to escape her censure."

"What?" Cuddy's fork clattered onto her tray.

Wilson raised both palms placatingly. "Don't worry, Chase did nothing of the sort."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Cuddy didn't look convinced, so Wilson continued reluctantly, "Chase came to me before the M&M hearing. House was slipping odd papers into the Dibala file and Chase didn't know what to make of it."

"And?"

"I talked to House. He thought he'd found evidence that would clear Chase, so he planted it in the file."

"And what evidence was that?"

"No evidence. It was the minutes of the last oncology department meeting, but House believed it was some old medical records of Dibala's."

Cuddy stared at Wilson with tight lips.

"I told Chase to go along with it," Wilson admitted.

"Wilson!"

Wilson leaned forward, his hands and arms gesturing in parallel lines to emphasise his argument. "Look, this is an enormous step for House: caring for one of his co-workers. He's bonding. He even gave Chase some personal advice."

Cuddy, sadly, didn't share Wilson's enthusiasm. "Do I even want to know what it was?"

"It wasn't bad; he told Chase to go see a priest."

"But if Chase didn't kill Dibala he doesn't need a confessional."

"It doesn't do any harm. If House is looking out for his fellow men, who am I to question the necessity of it?"

Cuddy returned to her original agenda. "So what do I tell Cameron?"

"His remarks about their relationship (or non-relationship) are no worse than they used to be. Cameron is in a funk because she thinks that what we're doing with House is unethical."

"She may have a point," Cuddy said drily.

"Cuddy, he's happy here. Even if I got Mayfield to take him back - and I'm not saying I could - he'd be miserable there. Look at the up-side: he's saved two patients." Cuddy gave him her good-try-but-it's-not-enough look. "He's happier than he's ever been since the infarction. Don't you want him to be happy?"

Cuddy broke eye contact to look at her plate. She stabbed a tomato. "He's terrorising my staff. Yesterday he stalked Singh during his rounds, today it was my turn."

"He believes he's doing his hours for his accreditation."

"Oh, no! I can't have him doing that for another 118 hours. Can't you keep him at home when he doesn't have a patient?"

Wilson grimaced. "Not a good idea."

Cuddy leaned her chin on her hand.

"He kidnapped my neighbour last week," Wilson muttered in answer to her unspoken question.

"I don't want to know!" Cuddy decided. She tapped the fingers of her free hand on the tray, then she came to a decision. "I'll tell him that I'll sign for all his hours because the rules are stupid and clearly not meant for him."

Wilson snorted. "Now who's supporting his delusions?"

"Oh, be quiet!"

"He'll be expecting his licence back."

"Then I'll give him one." Having solved the problem to her satisfaction she returned her attention to her food.

"You ... can't," Wilson pointed out, dumbfounded. "Only the board can; and they won't, not as long as Nolan doesn't certify that he's healthy."

"House doesn't look at his paperwork. I'll bet he never as much as peeked at his former licence, and he won't spare this one a glance. He'll never notice it's a fraud."

"And what happens if he wants to examine patients or carry out medical procedures?"

"Let his team deal with that. It's what I pay them for."

Wilson scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail. "They might have had somewhat different job descriptions in mind when they started working for House."

"Without House, they won't have any jobs to describe." She gave Wilson one of her bright, tight smiles.

**

* * *

IV Known Unknowns**

_Treats of how Cuddy gains a boyfriend while Wilson loses a lucrative post._

Wilson found Cuddy in the afternoon sun outside the conference centre, watching Rachel as she scooted around on her bobby car. He stood beside her, hands dug into his pockets.

Cuddy broke the silence. "That was the awkwardest coffee break ever."

"Hmmm."

She looked up at him sideways. "What did House mean?"

"I understood him to want ginger ale. With lemon."

"Don't mess with me, Wilson. What did he mean when he asked how 'we crazy kids hooked up'?" She sketched quotation marks in the air.

Wilson sighed. "He believes that you're seeing someone."

"I got that. I **also **got that he was seeing the person I'm supposedly 'seeing' sitting on the chair next to me. What I don't get is why he suddenly thinks that I'm dating someone. I'm not."

"It's the logical conclusion he's reached after analysing the evidence."

"Excuse me, what evidence?"

"Last evening you left him standing on the dance floor." There was a hint of accusation in his voice.

"I **had **to. He was on the verge of making a move on me. What was I supposed to do, wait for him to kiss me?"

Wilson avoided Cuddy's eyes. She narrowed them at him. "You don't expect me to let him kiss me, do you?"

"I'm not saying you should kiss him, but don't act surprised if your ice maiden act has him wondering. He has detoxed, he's been clean for months, he's been attentive, yet you're colder than you were when he was chugging pills like they were breath mints."

Cuddy stemmed her hands on her hips. "Oh no, Wilson, you don't get to guilt me into doing something **that **unethical, just so your best friend doesn't get his hopes quashed!"

"Don't! I get enough of that from Cameron." Wilson turned away, running a hand through his hair.

"What, House is hitting on her too?"

"God, no! She might be less of a pain if he was. 'Unethical' makes up a large part of her current vocabulary. She's of the opinion that leaving House in his, uh, beliefs is morally highly reprehensible."

Cuddy grimaced before returning to her own problems. "Even House isn't so narcissistic as to suppose that I'm dating just because I won't kiss him."

"There was the thing with Rachel." Again, Wilson's tone was somewhat disapproving. Cuddy raised her eyebrows enquiringly. "You said you had her in daycare and didn't need a babysitter when that obviously wasn't true."

"It's not my fault if he walks into the room uninvited and spots Rachel. Don't look at me like that, Wilson; I can't let a man who is hallucinating babysit my daughter."

"**I **get that, but he doesn't, so his mind came up with the only logical explanation: you don't want him to kiss you or babysit for you because you've already got someone to do all that."

Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. Spotting Rachel dangerously close to the edge ot the patio, she rushed forward to stop her. When she returned to Wilson's side, she looked thoughtful. "You know, this could be a Good Thing. Lately, House has been getting too amorous for my taste. Does this guy I'm seeing have a name?"

"Lucas."

"Okay, Lucas. Does he have any other attributes - last name, job, and so on - or can I invent those freely?"

Wilson rocked to and fro uncomfortably. "Umm, Cuddy, he's a real person. He exists. His name is Lucas Douglas."

"The PI?" Cuddy frowned.

"Yes. You know him?"

"House introduced us. I've been giving him work around the hopsital investigating irregularities in finances and the pharmacy. ... House can't possibly believe I'd date Lucas Douglas!"

"From what House said I gather that Douglas finds you attractive."

"He flirts like hell every time we meet, but dating him would be totally inappropriate. Ewwww! He must be ten years younger than me."

Wilson was beginning to enjoy this. "Oh, House is all for equal opportunity. Lots of men date younger women. Why shouldn't **you **... "

"Don't tease me! It isn't just his age. If House has the maturity of a teen then Lucas is still stuck in elementary school. There's no way I'd do him, and House had better not think I would! I'm not so desperate or frustrated!"

"I'll tell him," Wilson promised, grinning.

"You'd better. I'll never live it down if he runs into Lucas at the hospital and insinuates that he and I ... Am I boring you?" Cuddy interrupted herself as Wilson yawned discreetly behind his hand.

"No, I'm still a little tired."

"You worked late on your paper? How'd it go today?" Cuddy's guilt at forgetting about Wilson's paper was stamped all over her face.

"It didn't. House drugged me - which is why I'm still a bit drowsy - and presented the paper instead."

Cuddy's face mirrored incredulity and amusement in equal parts.

"Yes," Wilson continued somewhat bitterly, "his erudite, yet empathetic sentiments on euthanasia had the audience enthralled."

"You ... submitted a paper on euthanasia?" The incredulity remained, the amusement was replaced by dismay.

"**My **paper was on 'New Applications of Cryotherapy in the Treatment of Stage 2 Lung Cancer'. Give me credit for not jeopardising my career, and yours for that matter, without informing you first," Wilson said testily.

"And you tell me this now?" Cuddy's voice rose in pitch and volume. "Both of us will probably be fired when we get back to Princeton if I don't do some serious damage control here."

"Relax, he did it under a false name."

Cuddy shook her head in disbelief, but calmed down noticeably. "If he didn't do it to screw with you, then why did he do it?"

"He's got this fixed idea that I am about to commit professional suicide ranting about ethical dilemmas in oncology, so he knocked me out cold and held the talk in my stead."

"Why would he ... no, wait, I know. Cryotherapy, huh? You're aiming for that new oncology chair at Boston University, aren't you, and the paper on Cryptherapy was a step towards that chair."

Wilson ran his hand through his hair, unable to meet Cuddy's eyes. "I ... look, Cuddy ... yes."

"House's subconscious figured it out and opted to sabotage you. He doesn't want to lose you, Wilson."

"But ... I'm doing it for **him**. I'd be more flexible in a teaching job, and there's an institution near Boston that would take him."

"**He **doesn't know that. He is convinced that he's tied to his job at PPTH, thanks to you and your weird policy of letting him believe his delusions."

Wilson pointed an accusing finger at Cuddy. "Oh, come along, Lisa, now the pot is calling the kettle black, isn't it? You're quite happy to have him hoodwinked when it suits your purposes."

Cuddy quickly changed the topic. "This isn't getting us anywhere. How did House get at the meds to drug you?"

"He ... ah ... may have helped himself to my emergency supply."

"You keep a supply of knockout pills on you?"

"Yes. Just in case the situation gets out of hand and I have to ... have to get House under control."

"That seems to be working well! Have you ever used them on him?"

Wilson was silent.

"Oh god, Wilson! This can't continue. He'll harm himself or someone else if we don't put a stop to this." Cuddy worried her bottom lip. "Can't you wheedle Nolan into taking him back?"

"Mayfield didn't have him under control any more than we do. That overnight pass wasn't the first time House escaped. Before that he stole a visitor's car and took a fellow patient for a joy ride. The only reason he didn't get into more serious trouble after that was because he hallucinated that his pal jumped off the park deck and crippled himself. That made him slightly more amenable to therapy - for some time."

"Oh God! And what really happened?"

"Nothing. The guy was in a wheelchair most of his life, but House thought he was some sort of superhero." Wilson had by now acquired the ability to make House's delusions sound commonplace.

"So what do we do now?"

"We keep House as busy as possible. He's fine as long as he isn't bored."


	2. Chapter 2

**V Teamwork**

_Throws some light upon the amazing cluster of deaths in Season 5 and is enlivened by a cameo appearance of the White House._

On Tuesday Wilson appeared punctually at 1 p.m. in Cuddy's office. "Grabbing a bite with me?"

Cuddy barely looked up from her screen. "Sorry, no. It's been crazy this morning. I need to catch up on my paperwork."

"Can I bring you something from the cafeteria?"

"That would be lovely. My usual? Let me get my purse." She made to rise from her chair.

"No, don't bother. It's not ... ," Wilson broke off as he caught a glimpse of Cuddy's face. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing."

"Is it House? Did he do something? Say something?"

"No, it wasn't House. ... ," Cuddy sighed. "It was Cameron. She came in this morning to tell me - once again! - that what we were doing with House was immoral, that we were playing God and had allowed our power over him to corrupt us."

"Well - that was frank!"

"She said she was going to tell him."

"She's said that before. She never did," Wilson pointed out.

"Because I said I'd fire her if she did. This time she pre-empted me. She handed in her resignation." Picking up an envelope from her desk, Cuddy waved it at Wilson.

"Uh, that's kinda awkward."

"It's a disaster. I need a new head of ER and **you **need to keep House and Cameron apart. I gave her leave of absence from tomorrow till the end of her contract, so it's only for one day."

"Oh, sure. I can probably reschedule the department meeting, skip clinic duty and cancel the five patients I'm supposed to see this afternoon. My boss is very understanding that way," Wilson said with heavy irony. "Can't Foreman ..."

"Foreman?" Cuddy's laugh was forced. "Foreman marched in here right after Cameron left, demanding another fellow for the team. According to **him**, keeping tabs on House's shenanigans takes up the working capacity of an entire fellow. What exactly is House up to?"

"He's re-hiring his team."

Cuddy rested her chin on her hands expectantly. "Is there something going on there that I, as Dean of Medicine, should know about?"

Wilson grimaced. "Foreman fired Taub and Thirteen, so ..."

"Foreman didn't fire Taub and Thirteen. He can't. When I made him provisional head of diagnostics I explicitly excluded the right to hire or fire. Taub has taken some personal days and Hadley, let me see ...," Cuddy turned to her screen, clicking her mouse routinely a few times. "She's back from her vacation and should be at work again tomorrow."

"Cuddy, I'm sketching this from House's point of view. He thinks ..."

"**I **think that **you're** starting to think like him."

Wilson shrugged. "Maybe."

"Luckily it can't take him long to hire people who haven't been fired."

"Actually," Wilson admitted, "I told Taub and Thirteen to give him a run for his money. Running after them gives him a mission."

"No wonder Cameron was pissy. And Foreman, for that matter. Is the department getting **any **work done?"

Wilson looked defensive. "Foreman has no reason to complain. House is wooing Taub and Thirteen back by stalking them in their off-hours to run ideas by them. He's always spent at least half his and their time playing some sort of head game with them. That hasn't changed."

"No. What has changed is that now **we're **playing head games with **him**."

"It keeps him occupied and out of trouble. You might want to watch out for Thomas, though," Wilson added as an afterthought.

"I do?"

"House is enticing Chase away from surgery back to diagnostics."

Cuddy considered this for a moment before saying dismissively, "He can have him."

"Sorry?"

"House can have Chase. Thomas never wanted Chase anyway. Foreman gets his extra fellow, Thomas gets rid of Chase and House doesn't get to take my Department of Surgery apart."

"That's generous!"

Cuddy turned back to her screen, adding absently, "As long as House doesn't want Kutner back ..."

Wilson, who had already turned to leave, pivoted around.

"... because explaining to the White House why the staff of PPTH is disrupting the running of this country and provoking major international incidents might be tricky."

"That shouldn't become an issue. Kutner's dead." Wilson managed to make this sound like the statement of a fact.

"That's ludicrous! He was on TV the other day; half the staff congregated in the doctors' lounge to watch his first press conference. Hang on, House was there, too."

"He was," Wilson admitted. "He even noted that Obama's minority liasion officer looked a lot like Kutner, but since Kutner has reverted to his birth name, Choudhari or something like that, House brushed it aside and went back to sleep."

"But doesn't House remember organising Kutner's farewell party for him - that nefarious affair that had you running through the streets of Princeton in your underwear afterwards?"

"I was **not **in my underwear. I had merely misplaced my pants." Wilson did one of his defensive hand-waving things.

Cuddy leaned back, waiting.

Wilson sighed. "House remembers that as Chase's bachelor party."

"So he was already hallucinating when Kutner left."

"Probably."

Cuddy leaned forward eagerly. "Wilson, if we can pinpoint **when **House started hallucinating, maybe we can find the cause!"

Wilson clearly didn't share Cuddy's optimism. "He was already taking enormous quantities of vicodin at that point, Cuddy. I don't think ... "

"Were there any other incidents that indicate that he was hallucinating? Come along, Wilson, at least give this a try!"

"There was the mosquito," Wilson said reluctantly. Cuddy looked mystified. "This was when your first attempt to adopt a child fell though. He scratched his hand to shreds insisting he'd been bitten by some giant malevolent bug."

"I wouldn't have thought that he placed any value on my dreams being fulfilled. I'm touched," Cuddy said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, it wasn't your disappointment that got to him, it was the kiss," Wilson clarified.

"What kiss?"

"You know, when he kissed you. The night you lost the child."

"Excuse me?"

"You mean, he didn't come to your house that night?"

"No?"

"And he didn't kiss you?"

"No?"

"Oh."

Cuddy broke the silence. "Is there anything else I should know about?" Closing his eyes, Wilson massaged the bridge of his nose. "Wilson!"

"He hears me talking to Amber."

"You - still talk to Amber?" Cuddy eyed Wilson as though he were the one hallucinating now.

"No! I haven't talked to her since, oh, a few days after the accident. Believe me! ... He thinks I - talk to her memory."

"He thinks Amber is dead, too?"

"Yes."

"That could pass as wishful thinking; we all want her dead, don't we?" Cuddy said drily. Wilson didn't bother to contradict her. "Okay, Wilson, why does this bother you more than his other false assumptions? Because this is your ex-girlfriend he is picturing six feet under rather than his ex-fellow?"

"He pictures Kutner in an urn, but no. I really don't mind."

"Let me guess: he suspects you of murdering her!" Cuddy surmised, smiling.

"No. He blames **himself **for killing her," Wilson corrected her. Cuddy's smile faded. "In House's version of that night, she went to pick him up because I was on call, got on the bus with him, was injured in the crash and ... ultimately died."

Cuddy looked consternated. Wilson rushed on. "I didn't think it all that odd at first; his injuries were extensive, he was disoriented and confused. By the time he was coherent again, Amber and I were history, so I avoided talking about her for obvious reasons. It didn't really register that he had no clear idea of what really happened."

"You mean this is not a post-Mayfield phenomenon?"

"No."

"And you kept this from me all this time because you felt guilty about House being on that bus," Cuddy stated.

"It was my fault," Wilson said, running his hand through his hair. "If I hadn't been with Amber that night ..."

"Wilson, don't blame yourself that House got too plastered to drive. You had a right to spend time with your girlfriend."

"It was one of House's nights, but Amber insisted that I spend it with her. It wasn't the first time. I hadn't been out with House in over a month. She didn't tell me that he'd called asking for a lift."

"A garbage van ran into that bus. You're not to blame!" Cuddy insisted. "Nor is she," she added as an afterthought, but with far less conviction.

"She didn't tell me either that Princeton General called to say he was in their ER. He was there for three days, alone, traumatised, thinking I'd abandoned him for Amber."

"So when he finally recovered his cognitive powers only to find that Amber was no longer around, he figured that she was dead."

"Yes."

"You never told me any of this. I mean, I wasn't surprised when you dumped Amber, but I had no idea ..."

"There seemed little sense in talking about it. You'd warned me; House had warned me. I didn't want to hear, 'I told you so' or 'How could you fuck that?' Anyway, he made a few odd remarks right after the accident, but since he wasn't clear about any of the events that had led up to it, I didn't think too much of it. After his father's funeral he seemed back to normal, so I pushed it to the back of my mind."

Cuddy instantly latched onto the odd way Wilson had emphasised the word 'after'. "What happened at the funeral?"

"He was convinced that we'd drugged and kidnapped him to make him go."

"That's ... nonsense! He wasn't keen on going - I remember that - but he'd agreed to go for his mother's sake. In fact, he could easily have talked his way out of that; Foreman advised against it because he feared that a long journey so soon after the accident would provoke neurological damage."

"Which is why we sedated him, **with **his consent. But when he woke up in the car he was ... odd. And he told the police the strangest story about how he and I met. At the time I thought he was just messing with me, but now I'm not so sure."

"Police?"

"When we were stopped for speeding."

"Was House driving?"

"Cuddy, please ... don't ask." Wilson gestured defensively with his hands.

Cuddy obliged. "I remember you telling me that his eulogy was memorable."

"That was 'normal' House asshoodedness. I always thought his mother was insane to insist. Maybe we're looking for a genetic component." Both smiled weakly. "Afterwards, however, he started smashing glass. Nothing small-scale either; he went straight for the stained-glass window of the funeral home. When he tells the story now, **I'm** the one who threw the bottle."

"And you never considered correcting him?"

"As I said, it's not always that easy to tell when he's playing games with me. Besides," Wilson added somewhat sheepishly, "the story makes me more ... interesting."

"So the hallucinations might have been caused by massive head trauma and exacerbated by his emotional issues: his father's death, Kutner's departure."

"It's ... possible."

"I'll put Foreman on it." Cuddy rose and made for the door.

"Cuddy?"

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't get my hopes up. If the damage from the head injury hasn't healed by now, there probably isn't much we can do. And we can't keep people from moving out of his life. We can't prevent change, and any type of change is an emotional shock to House."

**

* * *

VI Ignorance is Bliss**

_Private and confidential information on Cuddy's family life that explains her lack of hospitality. Lucas's glee at being apprised of the important role he plays therein._

"You here today?" Wilson, in lab coat and with a stethoscope in his hand, looked into Cuddy's office during a lull in the clinic.

"Yes. Just for a few hours to get some paperwork done, but I'll be off in a moment."

"Well, have a nice Thanksgiving."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but it's unlikely. Any occasion featuring my mother is a nightmare."

"It was good of you to invite House," Wilson said as he turned to go.

Cuddy straightened and looked at Wilson in puzzlement. "I **didn't **invite House. Why on earth would I do that?"

"I don't know. Perhaps so that an old friend wouldn't have to spend the holiday on his own?"

"He's got **you**."

"Or to keep him busy and thus lighten the burden of another old friend?" Wilson suggested.

"Wilson, you met my mother at Rachel's Simchat Bat. She's evil!"

"I thought she was amusing with a great sense of humour. It was your sister and her husband whom I found slightly odd. Not that I saw much of your brother-in-law," Wilson conceded.

"They treated you like a giant cockroach because my mother told them that two of your divorces were due to domestic violence."

"She ... what?"

"Great sense of humour, right? Oh, and the third - well, I guess it's really the first divorce - was because your wife caught you in bed with her best friend. Her best male friend. But Josh and Julia are liberal about homosexuality, so that didn't prejudice them against you."

"I'm relieved! I'm surprised Josh left his wife in my company while he took a nap!"

"He had no choice - my mom sedated him. She can't stand him for longer than two hours at a stretch." That left even someone as hardened by House's antics as Wilson speechless. Cuddy said as though stating the obvious, "Where did you think I learnt to deal with House? House and my mom together would be like ..."

"Hurricane Katrina meets a tsunami?" Wilson suggested.

Cuddy frowned over another thought. "Since when is House interested in family occasions?"

"He wants to mess with you and Lucas - to see whether he can split you up."

"Wonderful! My mother is going to love this: a crazy colleague insulting my imaginary boyfriend over the roast turkey. Thank goodness Julia and Josh aren't here to witness this. I'd never live it down!"

"Isn't the dinner at their place?"

"No. They're on vacation on Hawaii. It's just my mother, Rachel and me at my place."

Wilson's chin dropped. "Then where'd House go?"

"Does it matter? I'll be ecstatic if he doesn't show. ... Wilson?"

Wilson was pacing agitatedly, massaging his forehead in thought. "He came into my office yesterday brandishing a piece of paper with an address; something in Baltimore. Woodbrook Avenue, I think."

Cuddy's face fell. "My sister lives in Woodbook Avenue in Baltimore. Where the hell did he get the address from?"

"He said you gave him the invite and the address in exchange for 45 minutes' clinic duty."

"Wilson, House can't do clinic duty. He. Hasn't. Got. A. Licence."

"Because diagnosing crotch rot without a licence is morally more reprehensible than diagnosing Crohn's disease or hemochromatosis."

"He doesn't diagnose, he **consults**. Anyway, he wasn't in the clinic yesterday; the nurses there have strict instructions to inform me if ... oh, no! When I got back from my lunch break he was sitting at my desk. He must've gone through my address book."

"So he's gone to your sister's place," Wilson concluded.

"Well, that **will **keep him busy! It's a three-hour drive. Each way." They looked at each other in dismay.

Wilson pulled his cell phone out. "Maybe he hasn't got far yet." He pressed a speed dial button and waited, phone glued to his ear. After a few seconds he said, "Cell phone is switched off," and flicked the phone shut. "Whom are you phoning?"

Cuddy had picked up her phone and was scrolling through her contacts. "My sister has a housesitter."

"There isn't much she can do, is there? Once he's there, he'll just have to drive back all the way."

"No, but the least the housesitter can do is offer him a sandwich."

The phone next to Cuddy's bed rang insistently. After the seventh ring she reached for it, glancing blearily at her alarm clock: 11:30 p.m.

"It's Wilson. I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but House isn't back."

"He is."

"Oh. Did he turn up on your doorstep?"

"Not on _my _doorstep. ... On Lucas's." There was silence at the other end. "Lucas Douglas. The PI I'm supposed to be dating. He called me an hour ago to tell me that House passed out on his couch."

"Oh-oh."

"Lucas spent three-quarters of an hour gloating before I managed to hang up on him, asking me which of his virtues attracted me to him, where he was supposed to have taken me on my first date, what I wore to it, how often we meet, whether we meet at my place or his, all in order to 'make our stories consistent'. I've never been so embarrassed in my life!"

"It's ... good that he's playing along."

"In what way? Wilson, I don't want House to believe that I'm dating Lucas and I'm not going to participate in any sort of charade involving Lucas just to keep House blissfully ignorant of his state. That guy is caffeine-free House - all the bad additives without the invigorating effect. Have you ever tried playing tennis with two balls at the same time? No? My trainer in high school used to think it a funny idea. Believe me, it isn't. That's what it'll be like if we have to keep House _and _Lucas in line."

"Can't we ..."

"No! I'm not interested!"

"If you tell House he hallucinated Lucas at the conference, I'll show him what a real medical licence looks like."

Cuddy scowled at the telephone, but she knew when she was beaten. "Fine! I'll tell him Lucas and I split up."

**

* * *

VII: Wilson**

_Provides explanations for Wilson's propensity to donate chunks of himself and Cuddy's odd taste in domiciles._

Spotting Wilson in the corridor of the OT recovery ward, Cuddy interrupted her daily round of the hospital. He didn't notice her until she touched his elbow. "I heard your patient died. I'm sorry."

Wilson looked surprised, but answered politely, "Thanks. It's tragic - he was my age - but it could have been worse. His daughter is practically grown up, his girlfriend young enough to get over it."

"And you?" Cuddy's hand was still on Wilson's arm.

"Patients die, Cuddy. Mine especially. It comes with the turf."

"I heard he was a friend."

"Friend?" Wilson said. "Well, I suppose one could say he was. We were in high school together, but we had no further contact until he got leukaemia five years ago. He was referred to me then, and of course I agreed to treat him. But we were never close."

"Sometimes looking out for someone forges a bond."

Wilson didn't pretend not to understand her. "He was sick, Cuddy, not needy. He had a devoted girlfriend, a forgiving ex-wife and a daughter who came running the moment I called. What he didn't have, I couldn't give him - his health."

"You do have something he needed: a healthy liver."

"I'm a doctor, not an organ farm. Lots of my patients could do with a pound of my flesh. Why should I bequeath it to Don rather than to any of the others?"

"Guilt?" Cuddy guessed.

"For what?"

"Your treatment was risky and unconventional. It fried his liver."

"If it had succeeded, it would have saved his life."

"It didn't."

"He knew the risks. He gambled. Had he won he'd be living happily ever after. As it was he lost his remaining six months."

"_You _gambled."

"Fine, I gambled." Wilson threw up both hands. "The treatment was risky, but not outside the boundaries of what is medically justifiable."

"That sounds more like House than like you." It was as much a question as a statement.

"It wasn't his idea. In fact, he advised me against it."

"Why? **He'd** have done it, I'm sure."

"He feared I wouldn't be able to deal with the consequences. But as you can see, I'm fine," Wilson said with finality.

"Then where do all these rumours that you were on the verge of donating your liver come from?"

"House, of course. Just like the ones that you're a transsexual," Wilson tried to deflect.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Odd, because I could have sworn that he believed the heart-rending tale he told me." Wilson drew a hand through his hair, his head bowed. "Wilson, why the hell did you let him believe that you'd submit yourself to such an insane procedure?"

"Fine, I admit it! I let House assume that I was contemplating an organ donation because he's a lot more inventive than I am. I gave him an incentive to apply his mind to the matter. His case wasn't very promising, so I thought he could do with a distraction. He was successful, you know - he found a donor liver. But by the time we got the next of kin's approval the liver was mush."

"So ... House wasn't hallucinating that you wished to donate a lobe of your liver to Tucker?"

"No. He was merely ... misled."

"And all those false diagnoses of yours that he had to refute before you accepted that Tucker had cancer?"

Wilson sighed. "That was me messing with House. I knew from the start that Tucker had cancer. Last week I invited ... someone over for dinner only to find, when I served the food, that House had switched the labels on my bottled spices and mixed wasabi into the green salsa. I don't think Cynth ... my guest will ever accept an invitation again."

"Seriously, you two combined have a lower level of maturity than a chimp on uppers."

"Cuddy, you wrong us. He was testing my olfactory skills and I his diagnostic ones."

"He passed. You failed." A nurse passed, mustering them curiously. "Why are we holding this conversation in the corridor?"

"I'm keeping an eye on House." Wilson nodded towards the nearest patient room. The blinds were closed.

Cuddy's eyes widened in alarm. She hurried over to the room and tried to peer through the blinds. "What happened? Why wasn't I informed?"

"He's fine. He's ... holding a vigil at my bedside."

Cuddy turned to stare at Wilson.

"He's under the impression that I'm recovering from a liver donation to Tucker," Wilson explained, avoiding her gaze. Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned against the glass wall, expelling a long breath.

Before she could say anything Wilson continued hurriedly, "I'm thinking of moving somewhere bigger, a place with two bathrooms maybe, and more room for House's stuff."

Cuddy allowed herself to be distracted. "With fewer associations from the past."

"Now seems a good time."

A thought struck Cuddy. "I was looking for a place closer to the hospital to reduce my daily commuting time and Bonnie showed me a loft conversion about a mile from here. It's totally unsuitable for Rachel and me - there isn't even a spare bedroom for my mother when she comes to stay, and what parent wants to swap a house with a backyard for an apartment? - but it might be just the right thing for you."

"Bonnie is the worst realtor in New Jersey," Wilson said apologetically.

"That's what I thought," Cuddy said wryly. "Take a look at it: it's light and spacious, has two bedrooms with separate bathrooms and an elevator."

"I'll do that."

"And Wilson?" Cuddy threw over her shoulder as she turned to go.

"Yes?"

"Get him out of here before the nurses start talking."

**

* * *

VIII: The Down Low**

_A romantic interlude is cut short by Cuddy's disapproval._

Her lunch always made his choice look like a carbohydrate orgy. She picked a small salad, an apple and a yogurt from the shelves before joining him in the queue. He looked down at his fries, steak and ice-cream, his lips pursed as he silently added up calories and thought about how he'd had to loosen his belt a notch a few weeks ago.

Her voice cut through his calculations. "I hear congratulations are in order."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked around to check whether anyone had heard her. The nurse in front of him looked at him curiously as she gathered up her change.

"So when's the happy day?"

He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, smiling perfunctorily at the girl at the cash till. "Keep the change," he said as he picked up his tray and moved away.

Cuddy was not to be shaken off. She followed him to his table and slid into the chair opposite his. "I look forward to seeing you all in white. No, wait, white is for young first-time brides, so you don't qualify, do you?"

Wilson said in his most deadpan voice, "House would. Since I proposed, I guess technically he's the bride." His mouth twitched in satisfaction as Cuddy gawped.

"The story is true? **You proposed to House? **I thought House was ..." Her voice faded, her expression a mixture of consternation, mystification and disapproval.

"It was a joke, Cuddy!" he hastened to reassure her. "House and I were messing with each other."

"Are you sure House knows that?"

"Of course! Our new neighbour unfortunately assumed that House and I were a gay couple." He cut up his steak methodically.

"No, really!" Cuddy gave Wilson her _I-can't-imagine-why-anyone-would-believe-that _look.

"When House saw that I was interested in her ..."

"Oh, a 'she'!" There was layer upon layer of innuendo in that one, too.

Wilson refused to be cornered. "Yes, her name is Nora. She's smart and funny."

"And attractive," It was a statement rather than a surmise.

"Well, yes," Wilson admitted. "Anyway, House decided to throw a spanner into my works, so he, um, strengthened her beliefs."

"And you're the innocent victim of his relentless wooing. You got so caught up in his make-belief that you couldn't restrain yourself any longer and fell on your knees before him."

"No, no, you've got this wrong! He wooed **her**, not me."

Cuddy took a moment to ponder this before she gave up, frowning at Wilson. "This makes no sense."

"We're talking House, the master of the double feint. He was worming his way into her confidence by being her gay girlfriend: watching musicals with her, exchanging recipes and gossip magazines, giving her back rubs ... you see where this was going." Wilson, elbow on the table, pointed at Cuddy with the fry impaled on his fork.

Cuddy grinned. "Totally. What a slut House is! Making me believe I was the love of his life only to grasp the first opportunity to cheat on me."

"Oh, but you **are **the love of his life. Nora," Wilson waved his fork at the world in general, "was just sex."

"That's a comfort," Cuddy said drily. She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure your neighbour wasn't having a bit of fun at your expense?"

"You mean egging both of us on by flashing her assets at us, but with no intention of following up? Why would any responsible, self-confident woman want to do that?" This time it was Wilson who was dripping sarcasm.

Cuddy leaned back and opened her mouth as though to retort. Wilson put down his fork and waited, smiling slightly, his stare defying her to take him up on the implied insult.

After a moment Cuddy dropped her eyes. "So you staked your claim on House by proposing to him in public," she finally said, again with a hint of aspersion.

"You're making this sound as though I were interested in House in ... that way!"

Cuddy shrugged as she tore the foil off her yogurt.

Wilson pointed his finger at her. "No, you don't get to do this! He violated common decency by cutting in on us when I'd already expressed an interest, so I retaliated in kind. That's all!"

"Ah, invoking the bro code. What if House doesn't see it that way?"

"We're friends. We've always jerked each other around," Wilson said defensively. "Why should he see it any other way?"

"Because he's suffering from delusions? Because he's always meant more to you than your wives did? Because you've just bought a bigger place solely to accommodate him? Because you proposed last night?" Cuddy's voice had got increasingly louder. "Take your pick!"

Wilson did just that, picking out the least compromising of Cuddy's accusations. "Hey, **you **suggested the condo! Are you saying that moving there was a mistake?"

"No. I'm saying that if you're living with someone who's delusional you shouldn't mess with his head."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Many thanks to Flywoman, whose comments had a major impact on the last two chapters of this fic.

**

* * *

IX: Remorse**

_Which confirms that Cuddy never had a picture of Lucas in her office and dispels any doubts the Reader may harbour regarding House's abilities while at medical school._

"Lunch?" Wilson, prompt as a cuckoo popping out of a clock, stuck his head through the door of Cuddy's office.

"Gimme a moment." Cuddy's fingers rapped a tattoo on the keyboard.

Wilson wandered over to the couch and sat down. It took a few minutes before he noticed that something was different than usual. He picked up one of the two picture frames on the coffee table and examined it, turning it into the light from the window. "Cute." It was Cuddy, posing before a tropical tree, in her arms the torso of a monkey that now sported Rachel's head instead of its own. The second picture, now depicting a monkey-headed toddler on a swing, was clearly the source of the monkey's new head.

"Not really." Cuddy's lips were a thin line.

"Don't be such a party pooper."

"Am I supposed to be amused at House making a monkey of my daughter?"

"Think of it as a courting ritual. He's expressing interest in your daughter. He's saying that ...," Wilson faltered, then inspiration hit him, "**Rachel **should be in your arms, not some anonymous ape."

"I hereby express interest in an apology, but that's not likely to happen." Her fingers attacked the keyboard viciously.

"Oh, I don't know." Wilson made it sound as if he did know.

"What, he showed remorse for defacing Rachel's picture?"

"Not exactly. He only mentioned manipulating a photo featuring Lucas," Wilson admitted.

"Please, Wilson! As though I'd have a picture of Lucas!" Cuddy pushed her chair back, got up and strode over to the coffee table. She picked up the picture that now depicted her with Rachel and squinted at it. "You know, that's even more insulting - imagining that Rachel bears the slightest resemblance to Lucas Douglas!"

Wilson nobly rose to his friend's defence. "You do see the goodwill behind this mild and merciful prank, don't you?"

"You've lost me."

"Had House wished to screw you and Lucas over," Wilson elucidated, "he would have photoshopped some and then spread it via the hospital intranet - at the best. At the worst, you'd find yourselves plastered all over Facebook and YouTube, doing unmentionable things with members of the bovine species. He isn't dipping your pigtails into the inkwell; he's merely flicking them gently."

"I'm to be grateful because he isn't stalking or harassing my non-existent boyfriend and me?"

"It's his way of showing that he respects your choice."

"So he's mellowing, like a good whiskey?" Cuddy picked up the second picture and took both over to her desk, where she placed them in the drawer.

"He **is **mellowing. He's more aware of his faults than he used to be."

"I never doubted that House was aware of his shortcomings. Problem is," the drawer slammed shut, "he refuses to derive any consequences from that knowledge."

"He **has **changed, Cuddy. You might get your apology. In Mayfield Nolan persuaded him to write a letter of apology to someone he wronged."

"He wrote you a letter of apology? That's sweet." Cuddy smiled at Wilson as she shut down her computer.

"Not me, actually. He wrote it to a fellow student."

Cuddy waved her hands at Wilson. "Give me a moment to get my mind around the concept that there's a being out there somewhere whom House has wronged more than he's wronged you."

"House's idea is to start small and work his way up. He was in a seminar with this guy and he swapped their final papers to prove some theory of his."

"He's apologising for doing someone a **favour**?" Wilson looked at Cuddy questioningly. She explained, "House's paper couldn't have deserved less than an 'A' - the **quality **of his work is never an issue. It's getting him to do it at all that is the problem."

"That's .. odd." Wilson frowned at Cuddy, or rather, through her, his eyes focused on something in the distance. "House was trying to prove that the professor was deliberately downgrading him, so he swapped his paper with an 'A'-student's paper. He promptly got an 'A' on Wibberly's paper."

"So he was wrong." Cuddy picked up her purse and moved towards the door.

"Only if Wibberly got a worse grade than an 'A' on House's paper."

"And did he?"

"House doesn't know," Wilson said slowly as though thinking something through.

"If House got a straight 'A' after getting lower grades before, it seems safe to assume that Wibberly got House's 'C' or 'D'."

"First, as you say, it's unlikely that House submitted a 'C'-standard assignment. Secondly, House doesn't **assume**. If he had conducted this experiment to prove a point, he'd have verified the result by checking Wibberly's grade." Wilson's hand chopped the air to emphasise his point.

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that House never swapped those papers because if he had, he would have gone to the trouble of finding out what grade Wibberly got on House's paper. Setting up an experiment and then not cross-checking the results is bad science, and that's one thing one can't accuse House of."

Cuddy finally understood what Wilson was getting at. "Why would House's brain invent wrongs he never committed? If he wants to wallow in guilt, I'm sure he's stored up enough muck to fill a whole pool."

"He knows that he has to address the issues caused by his pre-Mayfield behaviour, but as long as he's busy dealing with imaginary sins, he can postpone facing the people he's really hurt."

**

* * *

X: Moving the Chains**

_A short chapter in which Wilson returns Cuddy's previous disapproval with compound interest._

Wilson, tray-less, slid into the empty seat at Cuddy's table in the cafeteria. "You were out of House's office fast this morning."

Cuddy glanced up before refocusing on her salad. "Some of us have a job to do."

"Your hasty retreat had nothing to do with guilt?" Wilson regarded her with narrowed eyes. A slight flush rose up her throat. "That look of faux innocence does not sit well on you."

Throwing up her hands in surrender, Cuddy leaned back. "Fine. I paid Lucas to prank you. Send me the bills."

"I will." There was not a tinge of amusement in Wilson's voice.

"Why are you so outraged? This is the sort of thing you and House do regularly to each other - I'm sure you suspected each other at first."

"Why did you prank us?" Wilson accused more than asked.

"You said House needs to be kept busy. So far, you've borne the brunt of keeping him occupied, so I thought I'd contribute my dime's worth. I'm sorry if you consider this as poaching on your premises. Next time I'll ask your permission first." Cuddy shook her head in exasperation as she picked up her fork again.

"If you want to do something for him, why don't you invite him over for dinner?"

"Invite a guy over who is expressing romantic sentiments for me, thinks I'm dating someone else and spells jealousy with a capital 'J'? Yes, that **will **keep him busy! What is your issue with - what was it - an oppossum in the bathroom and your fire alarm going off?"

"Fire **sprinklers**, actually. You forgot cracking open House's skull."

"What?" Cuddy's fork dropped with a clatter.

"Your boyfriend loosened the grab rail in my bathroom. House knocked his head on the bathtub," Wilson recounted unemotionally.

"He was supposed to be harassing **you**, not House, so House could investigate his best buddy's plight. And he isn't my boyfriend," Cuddy added as an afterthought.

"He must have got that mixed up, because not an hour ago he tripped **House **up, right over there." Wilson pointed to a spot about ten yards away.

"You're kidding!" Wilson obviously wasn't doing anything of the sort. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he's an asshole?" Wilson surmised. "Cuddy, you're out of your depth here. This isn't a board room poker game, where you pit the other board members against each other and emerge the unscathed winner. They are two testosterone-laden alpha males fighting for the most desirable female. If you don't put a stop to this we'll have more damage than just a few chipped antlers."

"I'm not interested in either of them," Cuddy stated flatly.

"That's odd, because I could have sworn that your heels were lower and your necklines higher when House was in Mayfield."

Cuddy's eyes dropped.

"Cuddy, your games with House were fun while he was in his right mind and could judge your intentions and the risks involved. Now they're cruel."

"I'm not playing with House. I'm avoiding him, in case you haven't noticed."

"Now you're playing with Lucas instead," Wilson continued relentlessly. "Only, he isn't sticking to the rules, is he? House is getting hurt in the process, and I don't mean just physically."

Cuddy closed her eyes briefly. "I'll call Lucas off. Is there any way we can stop House from exacting dire revenge? Because if he does, there's no guarantee that Lucas won't retaliate regardless of what I tell him."

"House won't be a problem."

"No? What's he hallucinating now?" Cuddy's expression was a mixture of worry and dread.

"Nothing," Wilson said as though the idea were an impertinent allegation. He got up. Looking down on her he said with a hint of reproach, "He wants you to be happy, Cuddy. Even if it's with another guy."

**

* * *

XI: 5 to 9**

_Wherein Cuddy's true target in the Atlantic Net deal is revealed and the logistics of morning sex are discussed._

Wilson took his lab coat off the rack, cast a last glance around his office and switched off the light. Then he closed the door and locked it, checking it once more by pressing down the handle. Satisfied, he made for the elevator, shrugging on his coat as he went. Out in the corridor he hesitated a moment, then he headed for the stairwell, trotting down two floors rapidly. He was halfway down the next flight when he stopped suddenly - leaning against the wall next to the exit to the clinic was Cuddy. She'd heard him, though. She tipped her head so she could see him. When she recognised him, she pushed herself off the wall, hands on her hips.

"Get him off my back! I swear if you don't, I'll murder him - and I won't even bother to hide the corpse. I'll impale his head on his cane and display it in the lobby."

"Wow!" Wilson took the last few steps at a somewhat slower pace. "What did he do?"

"He's taking over my hospital. I've been dean for over thirteen years now. I can recognise a take-over bid when I see one." She didn't seem to expect any sort of a comment, let alone a refutation of her accusation. "Surgery is in a shambles - I'm sure Thomas's resignation is lying on my desk already -, we're headed for another pharmaceutical scandal and two of my employees are basically blackmailing me. Not that any of this matters; in half-an-hour I'll be out of a job. Also thanks to House."

"I don't see how you can blame House if your gamble with Atlantic Net doesn't pay off," Wilson said reasonably.

"My 'gamble', as you call it, would have succeeded if House hadn't interfered."

"Cuddy, there's no way you could have gotten twelve percent, not when Atlantic Net only wanted to give you four." Wilson held open the stairwell door for her.

"I've played this game for years; I **know **how it's played." Cuddy jabbed a forefinger in his chest as she passed by him through the door. "They offer four percent, I demand twelve percent, they expect me to meet them at eight - which is what most administrators would do. They don't expect to get away with four." She waved her hands, lifting fingers in illustration as she talked and walked.

Wilson skipped slightly to catch up with her as she headed for the clinic. "But you didn't meet them at eight. You insisted on twelve. That's insanity and it has **nothing **to do with House."

Cuddy swung around so suddenly that he almost walked into her. "No, it's called 'taking a risk' and I would have succeeded. I upped the pressure, stalked their chairman, phoned around a bit and finally got them where I wanted them: at **ten **percent. Eli sent me an email half-an-hour ago saying he'd come around with the contract if I agreed."

"So why didn't you?"

Cuddy took a deep breath. "I would have, only I was busy mediating a fight instigated by **your **best friend, a fight that involved my head of surgery and a certain surgeon affiliated to another department, which left the head of **that **department free to sneak into my office and hack into my account. He shot Eli down, saying that I wouldn't settle for less than twelve percent. Now that **is **madness. Atlantic Net can agree to eight without losing face; ten percent is already stretching it; but if they agree to twelve percent with dinky little PPTH, how can they bargain with bigger hospitals? I'm going to be fired if I can't get hold of their rep now. Unfortunately Eli isn't answering his phone. Am I surprised?" she asked rhetorically.

She stalked into her office and marched to her desk. Picking up an envelope that lay there, she ripped it open and scanned its contents. "There! Thomas's resignation."

"What happened there?" Wilson asked tiredly.

"House has been hijacking the OT on various pretexts and superseding Thomas's choice of surgeons. I've been putting out fires there all day. Wrong metaphor: I've been negotiating truces all day. This afternoon House instigated a fight between Thomas and Chase which ended in a black eye for Chase and a bloody nose for Thomas."

Cuddy sank down on her couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. Wilson sat down gingerly next to her. She continued, staring straight ahead, "Thomas is head of surgery. Chase is a mere fellow from another department. What I **should **have done was suspend Chase for a few days."

"But you didn't."

"When I confronted Chase he insinuated that his work supporting **Doctor** House made him indispensable to the hospital." She gave Wilson a sideways glance to make sure that what she'd said had registered. "When Thomas heard that I wasn't suspending Chase he stormed out, threatening to resign."

"You can't blame House for Chase's opportunism," Wilson defended his friend.

"He certainly doesn't set a good example," Cuddy remarked. "**Someone **is to blame and it isn't me."

"You're the one who suggested having his team keep an eye on him."

"To get him off **your **back."

Wilson deftly changed the topic. "So, what about the pharmacy?"

Cuddy gave him a sharp glance, but obliged. "I was called down there because of shipment irregularities. Seems there's been large scale theft of medication for years."

Now Wilson did look worried. "So you think House ..."

Cuddy shook her head. "No, it's a pharm tech named Gail who's running a meth lab from her basement. She threatened to expose my 'affair' with House if I dismissed her."

"You can't blame House for her blackmailing you about your relationship with him. He's not even fuelling that rumour - he's spreading the good news of your dating Lucas," Wilson pointed out.

"Oh, I've got her under control. The DA is informed already. The point is," Cuddy said as she moodily plucked at her lower lip, "House knew she was iffy, but he chose not to warn me."

"Keeping an eye on your pharm techs isn't part of his job."

"No," Cuddy agreed, "it's my PI's job. Lucas, however, is so distracted riling House with our supposed sex life that he hasn't the time to pursue the tasks I pay him for."

"So tell Lucas to stop messing with House and get his work done," Wilson said testily.

"I did. **He **implied that he's more than earning his pay by keeping House in ignorance about the true nature of our relationship and the rest of the world clueless about House's 'state', as he called it. What it boils down to is that I'm paying him a monthly salary to keep his mouth shut."

"But that's not really House's fault either."

"No," Cuddy agreed rather too readily. She swooped in for the kill: "All House did was to accost me in the lobby in front of my nursing staff asking me whether Lucas and I had been at it when he paged me this morning, because if so, he owed Lucas."

"Ah."

"They had some juvenile bet going. Lucas told him we do it every morning before work and House, unsurprisingly, didn't believe him."

"Oh, I don't know. More like, didn't **want **to believe him."

"What?" Cuddy turned to face Wilson fully, incredulity warring with disgust.

"Lucas is young and you're an attractive woman," Wilson hastened to explain.

"With a tight schedule. When exactly would I fit in morning sex? At five a.m. before yoga? At six a.m. with Rachel clamouring for her breakfast? At seven, with the babysitter in the next room? At 7:30, when I have to leave for work?"

"So what did you tell him?"

"I told him to give Lucas the money. If I'm to suffer the mortification of having my staff believe I fuck that juvenile jackass of an investigator, then let House wallow in the misery of assuming that I'm getting plenty whereas he isn't getting any."

"I think you've got a visitor," Wilson said, craning his neck as a slight unrest broke out at the clinic desk. Cuddy followed his line of vision, bringing her feet down abruptly from the coffee table and swinging herself up off the couch when she saw who it was.

"The moment of truth," she said, moving towards the door through which the Atlantic Net rep could be seen approaching. "You'd better start praying for our jobs."

**

* * *

XII: Lockdown**

_Reveals why a busy Dean goes baby-hunting and why she, and not her well-trained security staff, is the lucky finder._

Wilson was filling out a scrip for an idiot student with crotch rot when the door to the examination room opened. Cuddy's head poked through. "Need you. Now!" The door slammed shut again.

"Wow!" the student said. "**I'd** like to be needed by her."

"**You **won't be 'needed' by anyone until you've taken all of these." Tearing the scrip off his pad, Wilson slapped it into the student's hand, and then he followed Cuddy.

She was back in her office already, staring at her computer screen. When Wilson entered, she waved him over, indicating that he, too, should come to look at whatever had her riveted. Wilson moved to a position behind her right shoulder.

"Watch this!" Cuddy tipped the screen upwards to give him a better view. All Wilson could see was a video clip in poor quality. Other than a practically deserted area in one of the wards of PPTH there was nothing to be seen. The camera was well above eye level, so it must have been a surveillance camera. Other than a considerable portion of corridor one could make out the doors to two rooms on the left of the screen, part of the nurses' station on the right, and if one squinted hard and knew it must be there, one could recognise the elevator in the far background.

"What am I looking for?" Wilson murmured. The corridor was deserted, as was the nurses' station.

Cuddy pointed to the elevator. The door was opening and a fuzzy outline got out. The bad lighting and the distance made the person more a shadow than anything else, but the movement pattern was familiarly irregular.

"That's ... is that House? I'm not sure." Wilson bent over Cuddy's shoulder to get a better view.

"I am," Cuddy stated. "He comes into focus later."

Wilson straightened again, one hand stemmed on his hip. "So it's House. And he happens to be in the maternity ward just before a baby goes missing. That's odd - but it doesn't have to mean anything. He couldn't have known that a nurse would have a psychotic break moments later."

"She didn't." Cuddy's eyes hadn't left the screen. Now a nurse with a laundry cart entered the picture from the front.

"Sorry?"

"The nurse **didn't **have a psychotic break. Not then," Cuddy said, distracted. "Just **watch **this, will you?"

The nurse took a clean pile of towels from the cart.

"She's going into the room with clean towels," Wilson said in a 'let's state the obvious' tone. The nurse reappeared about thirty seconds later, a disorderly bundle in her arms. "Okay, there - she's got a whole pile of dirty towels and possibly the baby - oh, did she just throw the baby in with the towels? I didn't **see** the baby."

"No, there's no baby," Cuddy confirmed.

"Okay, so she got it later. You said she brought clean towels twice." The nurse went into the next room with another pile of clean towels.

"Never mind what I said. Just ..."

On the screen the shadowy figure suddenly limped forward. For a brief moment one got a clear view of his face - it was definitely House - before he disappeared into the patient's room. A few seconds later he reappeared carrying a bundle which he deposited carefully in the laundry cart. He looked around, then he took a wired basket normally used to transport files from the desk and placed it in the cart too.

"What's he doing?" Wilson said, frowning.

"He's placing the basket over the baby, upside down, so that the baby won't suffocate if any towels are thrown on top of it."

House disappeared from the screen; the nurse reappeared a few seconds later with more dirty towels. After throwing them into the cart she pushed it outside the camera range. The screen abruptly went black.

There was a moment of silence.

Wilson drew a hand through his hair. "So House took the baby."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have no idea." Cuddy looked up at Wilson, shaking her head slightly. "I was hoping **you'd **enlighten me."

"If this was on security tapes, then how come we were on lockdown for **hours**? You could have nailed him right away."

"Don't exaggerate - it was just one hour," Cuddy said tartly. "The first thing security and I did when the baby disappeared was check the tapes, but the one from the maternity ward had disappeared. I figured the kidnapper must be someone from the hospital with insider knowledge and a grudge against me, so I immediately locked down the hospital and then settled down to wait for the blackmailer to make his demands."

"But nothing came," Wilson surmised.

"Exactly! Until this," Cuddy waved at the computer screen, "came via email, from House."

"So House took the baby, removed the incriminating evidence, but returned it an hour later so you could find the baby," Wilson summarised.

"Yes."

"Then you're not being blackmailed."

"No." Somehow, Cuddy's voice lacked the relief one would expect in someone who has just escaped a potentially messy situation.

"That's good," Wilson pointed out. Judging by Cuddy's expression she didn't agree. "Isn't it?" he added tentatively.

"No, it's **not**!" Cuddy snapped. "If I were being blackmailed I'd know what I'm up against. What the hell does House want and what'll he do next to get it?"

"Oh, he's probably - just proving a point," Wilson said vaguely.

"The point here being?"

"That your security sucks."

"My security does **not **suck!"

"It was just a series of unfortunate events that House was assaulted more than once, held hostage and shot on these premises," Wilson remarked.

Cuddy swivelled round in her chair to face Wilson and leaned back. "Had he wanted to make a statement about my security he'd have spirited the baby right out of my hospital and gloated in public. All **he **got out of this was a lockdown that ultimately proved that our security measures work.** I **got out of it the knowledge that you're a petty criminal - yes, I know about that dollar - and that a nurse in maternity has psychotic breaks, but I doubt that was his aim."

"Didn't you say she **didn't **have psychotic breaks?" Wilson was losing the plot.

"She does, according to her medical records – I checked them - so I'm not simply sacrificing her to save House's skin." Cuddy was slightly defensive. "We just don't know whether she had one yesterday."

"Ah, how opportune!"

"Very," Cuddy confirmed. "She was a disaster waiting to happen; we're lucky this happened before she did something - irreversible."

"Perhaps House wanted to bring her to your notice," Wilson suggested.

"He could have done that with a lot less inconvenience and hassle for everyone concerned."

"But that wouldn't be House."

"Maybe not, but causing parents unnecessary distress isn't House either. I'm wondering whether he ...," Cuddy hesitated, then she suddenly changed tack. "He **seemed **better recently."

"He made me re-furnish my condo. Twice!" Wilson whined.

"That's exactly what I meant by 'better'," Cuddy said with an evil smile. "Not to forget the little publicity stunt in aid of your Hollywood career."

Wilson flushed. "I ... that's ... That wasn't me!"

"It **looked **a lot like you."

"You ... watched it?" Wilson gulped, his face now a deep shade of crimson.

"Of course I did. I take a lively interest in my employees' off-hour activities if those are likely to interfere with their work performance. You are aware that your contract at PPTH prohibits you from accepting fees for services rendered to a third party."

"Cuddy, this was while I was in college, and I didn't get paid. I ..." Cuddy's broad grin suddenly registered. Wilson massaged the back of his neck. "Oh, crap!"

"How'd House find it?" Cuddy asked.

"The movie? Sheer coincidence, believe it or not. Though considering the amount of porn he watches, he was bound to come across it sooner or later."

"He watches **that **sort of stuff? No offence meant, but I've seen more erotic scenes in the Disney cartoons Rachel watches. That movie was a total turn-off!"

Wilson was visibly glad that the conversation had turned from him to House. "His taste in porn, as in books or music, is eclectic. One day he'll listen to Bach, the next to Beyoncé."

"That movie was definitely the Justin Bieber of porn. Can I work with the assumption that House is less dangerous than my psychotic nurse?" Cuddy asked. "Correction: 'more predictable'. House is **always **dangerous."

"He's been running around the hospital in a hallucinatory state these past seven months," Wilson pointed out. "Nothing has changed."

That made Cuddy sit up. "He took a baby! I'd like to be sure that he's messing with me, and not harbouring the illusion that he's ridding the world of a re-incarnation of Damien."

"Either way, something must have set him off. If we can figure out what it is ..."

"Nothing set this off," Cuddy said with conviction. "He was lounging in my office all evening before that started."

"Oh, are you encouraging his attempts to lure you away from Lucas?" Wilson quipped.

"You wish! No, I'm keeping him away from the clinic. Sometimes, when he has no patient, he comes to do his clinic duty ..."

Wilson frowned. "That doesn't sound like House."

"All part of his 'see-how-reliable-I-am,-so-why-don't-you-dump-Lucas' campaign." Cuddy rolled her hands in explanation. "Anyway, I have to prevent that, so I lure him into my office on some pretext or other, and then pretend not to notice that he grows roots there." At Wilson's speculative look she added, "It's preferable to the lawsuits I'd face if his clinic patients found out that the arrogant jerk who treated them doesn't possess a licence."

Wilson pushed himself off the sideboard behind Cuddy's desk. "Let's go look at the security tapes for the evening. Maybe he saw something, a patient with curious symptoms ..."

"At that time of day? The clinic closes down at six." Cuddy looked unconvinced as she trailed behind Wilson to the offices of the security department.

"When did he leave your office?"

"No idea. I'm pretty sure that he was still there at seven-thirty."

"He was shirking clinic duty in your office **ninety minutes **after the clinic closed?"

"He ... falls asleep on the couch. I don't bother to wake him," Cuddy said with a hint of embarrassment.

They'd reached security, so she stated her wish to the officer on duty. He grabbed a box of tapes from a shelf, led them to a back room with viewing equipment, and then left them.

Wilson looked at the box, then at Cuddy, who said, "The time stamp on the clip he sent me says he took the baby at 7:57 p.m."

"Okay, clinic between 19 and 20 hours." Wilson pulled a tape from the box and inserted into the player.

The security camera was fastened above the door to Cuddy's office so that it covered the clinic desk, the doors to all examination rooms and the waiting area. The lights in the area were still on, but it was completely deserted. After a few minutes of unmitigated boredom Cuddy sighed and leaned forward to fast-forward the tape. "There's nothing here. The cleaning lady has left and no one enters the area after that."

"There!" Wilson pointed to the screen. A figure was entering it from the right side.

"What ... who?"

"That's Cameron," Wilson said, his face scrunched up in concentration. A second figure followed.

"Are you sure? Yes, you're right. With Chase." Cuddy frowned her surprise at the innocent screen.

Chase pointed to the door of one of the examination rooms. Cameron hesitated, then she tipped her head to one side and smiled. Chase unlocked the door and ushered her in. Nothing happened for twenty further seconds. Then:

"And there goes House!" Wilson said, leaning back victoriously. House limped into the picture, heading purposefully towards the clinic exit. "Okay, we've got his reason for provoking a lockdown."

"He did it so he could hit on Cameron?"

"He did it so **Chase **could hit on her." Wilson fast-forwarded the tape. The time stamp leapt on. About thirty minutes later, Cameron emerged, pulling her fingers through her hair, followed by Chase straightening his clothes. "And it seems our young charmer did."

"Cameron came here to do Chase in an examination room? I thought they'd split up ages ago!"

"They, ah, have this on-and-off thing going," Wilson explained. At Cuddy's frown he added, "Cameron's quarrel is with you and me, not with Chase. And Chase has a pool going on how many rooms of the hospital he can have sex in."

"I had to call a lockdown because House has money in Chase's pool?" Cuddy's voice did a loop-the-loop of indignation.

"Oh, no! No, no! House knows nothing about the pool. He thinks that Cameron and Chase are still married, but separated. That Dibala thing, you remember. Quite the romantic, House is. He probably thinks he's salvaging their marriage."

Cuddy leaned her elbows on the table in front of her and buried her face in her hands. "Couldn't he just have got them a room?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A big thank you to **flywoman_returns** for suggestions and advice and to **brighid45** for encouragement and support. **Flywoman** has posted some wonderful short post-eps for the last few episodes, so check them out. I'm assuming that anyone reading this is reading brighid's Treatment series. If not - it's worth it!

* * *

**XIII: Knight Falls**

_Wilson develops a sudden interest for herbal remedies and Foreman sets an ultimatum._

"Dr Cuddy? I need a word with you." Foreman walked into Cuddy's office without awaiting further permission.

Cuddy looked up from her papers, her smile fading as she registered his serious expression. "Sit down. What can I do for you?"

"It's House."

"Of course." She smiled tightly.

"I refuse to be responsible any longer for what he's doing."

"Dr Foreman, either you second his procedures and treatments, or you don't, in which case he has to run them past me. Either way the one who signs off the procedure is ultimately responsible," Cuddy said with an air of finality. Then a thought struck her. "You aren't letting **him **sign off procedures, are you?"

"The problem isn't his pen, it's his sword. That isn't a metaphor," Foreman said.

Cuddy shrugged that off. "He's taken patients' weapons before - I remember him sticking a knife into a socket. He's a danger to himself, not to others. Let me know if he shows signs of committing hara-kiri."

"He isn't sticking the sword into sockets or into his own belly; he's impaling **us**."

"Has anyone been injured yet?" Cuddy enquired.

"No, but ..."

"House's motoric skills and reactions are far above average. A sword at your throat may seem threatening, but trust me, you're a lot safer at the tip of House's sword than on the freeway among incompetents and drunks." Cuddy turned slightly to her screen to indicate that from her point of view the discussion was over.

"You can't **know **you're safe with a man who's hallucinating."

"He hasn't been hallucinating lately."

Foreman, however, was not put off so easily. "That's a fallacious argument on more than one count. A) He may well have been hallucinating without our noticing it, and B) he's definitely hallucinating now."

Cuddy's eyebrows rose.

"Wilson would know and **he's** worried; he should be," Foreman said cryptically.

"Why should Wilson be worried?"

"He's dating his ex."

"House is seeing Stacy?" Cuddy's voice did a backflip.

"No. Wilson is seeing his first wife. If I were Wilson, I'd also worry about House's sword tickling her throat."

"Okay, but that's no proof that House is hallucinating."

"He has accepted Wilson's story that the sword belongs to our patient," Foreman elucidated.

"Are we talking about the same sword, the one the patient from the Renaissance Fair brought with him?"

"We're talking about the same sword, but it wasn't lugged here by the patient. It belongs to House, who came in with it the first time a few days **before **the patient came to the ER."

"Then why did Wilson tell House it belonged to the patient?"

"So that the sword leaves again with the patient when he's discharged."

"That takes care of your sword problem, doesn't it." Cuddy's tone screamed 'end-of-conversation'. "It's lucky we have a patient from the fair."

"It takescare of the sword, but not of the other weapons in House's arsenal. And no, we're not lucky. Or, as House would say, there is no such thing as coincidence. Wilson supplied a patient to go with the sword."

"The patient was sent up by the ER. I know that because **I **happen to assign patients to Diagnostics."

"When House first brought the sword to the hospital, Wilson suddenly developed an interest in mediaeval medicinal remedies - I saw a book in his office. When we searched the patient's apartment we found a bank statement with an incoming payment by someone named James Wilson, dated two days before he collapsed and was brought to our ER." Foreman leaned back, face deadpan as usual.

"You're saying that Wilson paid this guy to almost kill himself and then act as a human guinea pig for our diagnostic department?"

"I'm not sayin' anything," Foreman drawled. "I'm just repeating my observations."

"Why would he do that? It's dangerously insane!"

"Our Sir William has an expensive hobby. He's been camping out there for over a month, which means he hasn't been earning any money on a regular job. Then there are the authentic garments made of natural home-spun fibres, the suit of armour, the sword, shield and lance, not to mention ..."

"I see you've done your background research," Cuddy cut him short.

""This jousting business is dangerous in and of itself. Those folks out there are all batshit crazy. Which brings us back to House. We refuse to participate in this madness any longer."

"Who is 'we'?"

"The Department of Diagnostic Medicine."

"I'd have to ban him from the hospital premises to make him stay away," Cuddy objected.

"Then do that."

"Let's get this straight." Cuddy leaned forward, exposing enough cleavage to have snapped House, but Foreman was made of stronger metal. "Even if I refuse him access to the premises, he's a free man otherwise. He can go where he likes in this country, carrying whatever weapons he likes, as long as they're legally his. You say he's a hazard. If that were really the case, isn't everyone safer if he's in a hospital with security staff and surveillance cameras everywhere and the facilities to treat anyone who may get hurt?"

"Dr Cuddy, I **know **he's a hazard to my department. If you believe he'd be even more of a danger to the outside world then it's your duty, as his friend, to have him committed."

Cuddy's gaze dropped. "I ...no ...that's not my responsibility."

"It isn't mine either, but if you don't do something about him, **I **will. If need be I'll file a petition for incapacity."

"Look, this sort of thing doesn't get done overnight," Cuddy prevaricated. "There are certain legal requirements ..."

"Thirty days, then I'll contact an attorney." Foreman rose. "Oh, and Dr Cuddy? I think it's time Wilson dropped a hint to someone about herbal poisons before we kill the patient."

Cuddy sat there, frozen, for a long time after he left.

**

* * *

XIV: Open and Shut, The Choice**

_In which Wilson's problem isn't that he's dating __**his **__ex, but that he used to date someone else's._

A light still burned in Wilson's office, so Cuddy marched in. "Wilson, I appreciate that you have a right to a private life over and above taking care of House, but paying his team to keep him busy while you get laid is ..."

"… a completely unfounded accusation." Wilson looked up from his paperwork, his sleeves rolled up. The desk lamp illuminated his face, but left the rest of the room in darkness. "For one thing I didn't pay them."

"House said you admitted to it." Cuddy walked over to his desk and stemmed both hands on it.

"I told him I paid them when he asked, because if I'd denied it, he'd have hacked into my online banking account to check on me and found the payment I made to that knight, Sir William. Last Tuesday, when I asked Taub to keep an eye on him, we had a late board meeting, that Friday, when Thirteen took him to a lesbian bar, I was right here on call, and yesterday I had a support group meeting ..."

"Support group?"

"For family of patients with psychiatric issues. Foreman and Chase took him to a karaoke bar. He had fun, you know." Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"So much fun that he shot me down today when I suggested grabbing a bite to eat. Normally he'd be jumping at the chance to get one up on Lucas. You've hurt his feelings!" Cuddy accused.

Wilson slammed his pen down and rose in turn. "Cuddy, I'm at the end of my rope! I can't leave him by himself, his fellows have had enough - I don't know what to do any more." He tugged his fingers through his hair, half turning away from Cuddy.

"Has it occurred to you that you dating Sam exacerbates his fear of abandonment?"

"Me dating Sam," Wilson echoed hollowly.

"Strong, self-confident, blonde. Does that ring a bell somewhere? His condition is deteriorating because he's afraid you'll toss him aside now that you've got someone else."

Instead of answering Wilson bent down to his computer, clicking a few times with the mouse. Then he turned the screen so that Cuddy could see it. He'd opened Facebook in his browser and his cursor pointed to a user picture. "Here, do you see this? **This **is Sam. She always was and still is a brunette. As for character, she isn't **anything **like Amber, if that's what you were getting at. She's a mouse."

Cuddy backpedalled rapidly. "Okay, so he's got that wrong, but ..."

Wilson's voice rose. "No buts. He's got **everything **wrong because I'm **not **seeing Sam." He stood for a moment massaging his neck before he continued, "Yes, she friended me on Facebook, and yes, I suggested we have dinner together, but Sam declined. She said she'd like to think of me as a friend but she wasn't over that part of her life as yet, so she felt it would be wiser for us not to meet."

"Oh. Then who are you dating?"

"No one!" Wilson shouted. "Do I have to spell it out? I have no personal life, and certainly no love life, because I'm busy trying to keep a guy in line who was already considered insane by most people **before **he started hallucinating." He paced to and fro as far as the space behind his desk would allow, his hands jerking in emphasis as he spoke. "He's started a guerrilla campaign against 'Sam'. I ask him to meet me for dinner at that Italian place down the road from the condo; he turns up with a transvestite to shock 'Sam'. He's rearranging the condo, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher so they don't get cleaned, putting perishable foods in the warmer spots in the fridge, mucking up the coffee table, throwing banana peels into my bedroom trash - my bedroom smells like a monkey cage! - in the hope that I'll blame 'Sam'!" Wilson shook his head despairingly at the memory.

"Have you thought of 'breaking up' with Sam?" Cuddy suggested.

"I have. I did. I opted for a fight over shirts that had shrunk in the dryer. Unfortunately, it seems that Sam and I are more mature than we were twenty years ago. We've made up again." Wilson sank back into his chair.

"He's left me alone ever since he decided that he can't split Lucas and me up."

"Yes. You even got a coffee machine out of the deal. All I get is dirty dishes and shirts that are two sizes too small for me now! Staying put and hoping the problem will solve itself isn't going to work. He's got it into his head that Sam wants to move in with me."

Cuddy sat down opposite him.

"And that I want him to move out." Wilson gauged Cuddy's reaction before he added, "Which might not be a bad idea in itself. Unfortunately, he's thinking of returning to his apartment."

"Oh, no. He can't!"

"I agree. **You** have to take him." Wilson turned the full wattage of soulful brown eyes on Cuddy, eyes with dark rings under them and lids that twitched as he spoke.

Cuddy looked hunted. "Wilson, I can't. You know I can't. I've got a child. I can't take in someone who may go ballistic on a non-existing rival, and risk having Rachel caught in the crossfire."

"Then what do I do?" Wilson's voice rose half an octave.

"He's been committed before," Cuddy noted.

"He went voluntarily. He won't now."

"File a petition for incapacity."

Now Wilson looked hunted. "I ... I can't. He'll never forgive me."

"Blame me," Cuddy said flatly.

"It won't work. This isn't a one-off; there'll be court hearings, his attorney will be all over my back - he'll figure it out. I'm not sure he ever forgave me the debridement and that was just a bit of muscle – **this** is his freedom, his right to self-determination!" Wilson was so busy rubbing every inch of skin on his face with the balls of hands that he didn't notice Cuddy's puzzled look.

"The debridement?"

"Yeah, authorising the procedure while he was in a coma."

"But Stacy authorised it," Cuddy objected. "She was his medical proxy."

"No, she wasn't, I was," Wilson corrected her, resurfacing from behind his hands. "**You **should know - you were the attending who suggested the procedure."

"I didn't check the paperwork - legal did. You weren't even here!".

"I **was **here - I just ... lay low. Stacy brought me the paperwork."

"You were his proxy, not Stacy?" Cuddy repeated.

"He has little respect for other doctors and none whatsoever for lay people; do you really think he'd let someone with no medical training whatsoever take medical decisions for him?"

"Then why the hell did he believe that Stacy authorised the debridement?"

Wilson shook his head as though clearing away cobwebs. "He was bitter about Stacy. I think it was his way of dealing with her betrayal."

"What betrayal? If Stacy wasn't his proxy she didn't betray him," Cuddy pointed out. She eyed him suspiciously, and then she leaned forward. "James Evan Wilson, I have no idea how you did it, but you let House believe that we, meaning **my** hospital, allowed his girlfriend to act as his medical proxy despite the fact that she was nothing of the sort. You saved your friendship at the cost of his relationship with Stacy," Cuddy said coldly.

"No ... no, you've got that wrong. Their relationship was on the rocks already. That's what I meant with 'betrayal'."

Cuddy's expression indicated how little she was inclined to believe Wilson. He rearranged his pens before he looked Cuddy in the face and said, "Stacy left him the week **before **the infarction. That's why I didn't take him seriously at first when he phoned me to tell me that his leg was killing him. I thought that ... he was faking it to make Stacy return or that it was his body's response to his suppressed emotions, but not that he was in real pain. So I ignored it and told him to go to the nearest clinic. By the time I figured that the pain was for real and brought him here, ..." His voice petered out.

"And Stacy? Why was she here and not you?"

"When it became obvious that he'd kill himself to prove his point, I asked her to come and make him see sense. He behaved as though she hadn't left him and it really wasn't the time to argue the matter. He was mad at me for ignoring his symptoms, so ... I let Stacy deal with him." Wilson avoided Cuddy's eyes. "But she was determined not to stay once he was through the worst - she made that clear to me from the start - so when House came out of the coma and blamed her for what had happened, we decided that she might as well bear the brunt of it for the short time she intended to stay."

"How noble of her," Cuddy said without sarcasm. After a pause she added, "And absolutely unlike Stacy."

"Sorry?"

"It would make sense if she had been screening **her **best friend from House's wrath, but protecting House's buddy from House - why would she do that?"

"I told you she ..."

"Furthermore, Stacy likes to keep her options open. She'd never have left House before the infarction if she hadn't had something more promising lined up." Cuddy eyed Wilson speculatively. "She left him for **you**."

Wilson was silent.

Cuddy leaned forward and stabbed a finger at Wilson. "She left him for you, and when House turned to you because of his leg pain, you didn't go to him because you were afraid he'd found out about the two of you and was carrying out some diabolical revenge in the guise of a medical emergency. Similarly, you didn't dare be around at the hospital once you'd called Stacy to his side because you were afraid he'd guess once he saw you together."

"She was lonely," Wilson defended himself. "House was always more absorbed in his cases than in her - you know how he gets when he has a case, and in those days he took more cases. Stacy isn't like that. She loves her work, but she isn't obsessed by it. She wanted companionship, not the occasional scrap of attention he threw her way."

"She was needy," Cuddy summarised. She smiled bitterly. "And then she dumped you for Mark."

"Er, no. **I **ended the relationship." Wilson had the grace to look guilty. Cuddy's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "House was a lot worse after the infarction than - I mean, Stacy and I hadn't reckoned with an infarction in the first place. I had to work, look after House, then look after House some more ... I simply had no time for her."

"She ditches her boyfriend in favour of his best friend, only to have the best friend leave her for her ex. How ironic!"

"Whatever." Wilson closed his eyes.

"It doesn't explain why House still blames her for what happened."

"He doesn't." Wilson paused. Then he said uncertainly, "Does he?"

"Well, he reminds me at least once a year, usually when I'm trying to get him to do a lecture or attend a fundraiser, that I and 'that other harpy' crippled him, which is why he is now too fragile for such exhausting activities." Cuddy rolled her eyes.

Wilson considered this. "He might mean me when referring to harpies."

"I don't think so. What does he say when you talk about it?"

"Talk about what? The infarction? We … we don't talk about it."

"You haven't talked about it in ten years?" Cuddy shook her head and leaned her forehead on her hand in despair.

"What's there to say? 'House, my choice was wrong and it was cowardly. I chose the middle ground that saved your life, but crippled you and left you in permanent pain. I should have been prepared to take the risk of losing you. I should either have let you die or had the courage to take your leg entirely and risk losing you to your anger. My choice left you with more pain and less mobility than an amputation would have done.' Cuddy, he knows all that! Where's the sense in talking about it? **He** certainly doesn't want to, and after what I did, I have no right to take up the topic against his wishes."

Cuddy stared into space, fidgeting with her pearls. Wilson watched her in silent irritation. Finally he said, "Cuddy, just … let it go, please. Don't start blaming me – heaven knows I blame myself enough as it is."

Cuddy's attention snapped back to Wilson. "Wilson, this isn't about blaming you. Don't you see? House should know that Stacy never was his proxy. That he doesn't, means that he is delusional about it."

"Ten years? You think he's been delusional for the past **ten** years?"

"It's the only explanation that makes sense, because whenever he mentions Stacy or the break-up to me, which admittedly isn't very often, it always features Stacy leaving him **after** the infarction, guilt-ridden and driven away by his animosity towards her."

"If he has been delusional for that long," Wilson said heavily, "then perhaps we really should get him committed." Cuddy looked at him in surprise. "It can't have been the vicodin or the brain injury from the bus crash."

"No," Cuddy concurred, "but he flatlined for a whole minute during the infarction. I barely managed to bring him back."

"Damn the bloody infarction!"

"This does have a bright side," Cuddy said on a more cheerful note. Wilson looked at her in disbelief. She shrugged. "House was delusional for over eight years before anyone noticed it. It seems to be triggered by stressful incidents, usually major physical trauma. That means he can live a normal life with it, if he isn't overdosing on vicodin or stressed out of his mind. Maybe letting him return to his apartment isn't such a bad idea. The problem is that there are bound to be vicodin stashes everywhere in it."

"I searched it and removed his secret stashes when he went to Mayfield. Look, I'm pretty sure I found everything."

Cuddy laughed. "You think you're better at hide-and-seek than House? I doubt anyone is. ... although ..." She got the kind of epiphany look that was normally House's speciality.

"Who? His team? No way!"

"No. Lucas. Lucas Douglas. If anyone can find House's hiding places, it's him. Give me a few days, and then tell House he can move out."

**

* * *

XV: Baggage**

_Wherein Wilson needs to be needed, Lucas indulges in home improvement and Cuddy sacrifices a family heirloom._

"Lucas just phoned. House turned up in the apartment!" Cuddy, standing at the door of Wilson's office, was spewing flames.

"The last I heard, it was still House's apartment, not Lucas's," Wilson said pointedly.

"Look, I don't know what kind of pissing contest this is ..."

"It's no pissing contest. You wanted to take responsibility for House - you're getting it."

Cuddy marched forward to lean on Wilson's desk. "Wilson, Lucas isn't done yet! Couldn't you have warned us?"

Wilson was not intimidated. "When I gave him my key, he said he needed four days to turn everything upside down He's had **five **days - I only let House move out today."

"He needed four days to search for House's secret stash. Now he needs a few days to put the place together again," Cuddy said. Wilson frowned. "House lived there for over ten years and he's had one police search already. You think he's going to have easy hiding places? Lucas has had to pull up floor boards, remove panelling, pull cupboards off walls, etcetera, etcetera. He's got to do the place up again - it's a shambles."

Wilson got up with a weary sigh and went over to the coat rack.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy asked.

"Lucas won't be able to put everything back the way it belongs. I'll see what I can do," Wilson said with a martyr's mien.

"Too late. House has seen the mess already."

Wilson stopped short. "What did he say?"

"He told Lucas that he had till this evening to get everything back the way it was."

"That's all? No comment on what **your **boyfriend was doing at **his **place and what business of Lucas's his secret drug stashes might be?"

Cuddy folded her arms over her chest defensively. "He mistook Lucas for Alvie. You know, his bipolar friend from Mayfield."

"Alvie doesn't exist," Wilson said unhappily.

"That's a good thing actually," Cuddy opined.

"I don't see how House believing that one of his delusions has turned up in Princeton can be a Good Thing."

"He believes a lot of crap anyway; since he's chosen to mistake Lucas for someone else, it's better if that someone else doesn't exist, just in case House decides on some sort of vendetta against that person involving violations of privacy as in Sam's case."

"Sam?" Wilson's voice rose in alarm.

"Oh, you didn't know? It didn't come up sometime? He paid Lucas to dig in her past. That included her therapy case file."

Wilson started his 'massaging-obscure-areas-of-his-upper-extremities' routine, beginning with the bridge of his nose. "Oh my God! If Sam finds out about this ...,"

"Exactly."

"Why the hell didn't you stop Lucas?"

"He didn't tell me about it **then**, he told me now. It was a private deal between him and House, who is not officially incapacitated and hence legally able to hire a PI for his own purposes, and since Lucas didn't know that you're not dating Sam, he had no reason not to take on the case."

"So what happens now? Lucas fixes the place up again and then pretends to go back to Mayfield? What's Alvie supposed to be doing at House's place, anyway?"

"Hiding from immigration officials and indulging in a bit of home improvement while he's at it."

"Yeah, I can figure why that would appeal to House's subconscious more than the idea of your boyfriend searching his digs for drugs."

"Lucas is not my ...," Cuddy objected automatically.

"I know ... I just ... it's easier than ..." Wilson closed his eyes and grasped an imaginary basketball with his hands. "Talking like House keeps me from shooting off my mouth in front of him." His eyes snapped open again. "Well, if House wants the place back in its original pristine state by this evening we haven't got much time." He moved towards the coat rack once more.

"Relax. He's accepted that Alvie has changed things around a bit in his absence."

"You've got to be kidding! 'Change' is a four-letter word in the Dictionary of House. He'll go ballistic if he can't find his stuff."

"Lucas has got everything under control. Seems he tossed House's coffee table out..."

"It was a perfectly good coffee table - why the hell did he have to throw it out?"

"Re-Lax!" Cuddy repeated. "They're going to the dump to find it! House hollowed out all four legs to make room for vicodin bottles, so Lucas thought it was too rickety to keep, but I've told him to fix it up somehow when they find it."

"**If **they find it," Wilson said glumly.

"Lucas is a professional. This is his job!"

"That's all - just the coffee table?"

"And five books that House had also used to conceal pill bottles. He cut apertures into the pages to hold them. Lucas said House steered unerringly towards the places where the books should have been - how the hell does he remember after all this time where he kept his stash?" Cuddy's voice held undisguised admiration. "Does he have a photographic memory?"

"Probably some weird mnemonic. What books were they?"

Cuddy took out her phone and checked through her text messages. "Lucas sent me the list. Adams and Victor,_ Principles of Neurology_; Sabiston's _Textbook of Surgery_, Janeway's _Immunobiology _... oh, I see where this is going! Anyway, it shouldn't be too difficult to get hold of those somewhere. I've told Lucas to head for the university bookstore."

"What about the other two?"

"One's oncology, obviously."

"And the other is endocrinology?" Wilson surmised.

Cuddy frowned as she read. "No, it's ... _Approach to the _... holy shit!"

"Sounds like the Monty Python version of a gastroenterology textbook."

"You're not so far off. The book is obscure and out of print - there's no way Lucas can get it in a book store." Cuddy punched a number into her cell phone. "Lucas? Listen, there's no way you can get that book about the acute abdomen in the book store. It's out of print. ... No. But I have a copy. ... Yes. ... Okay. In the living room on the book shelf above the television. It's got a brown leather binding. ... Okay. ... Thanks. Bye."

"Lucas is going to your place to get your copy," Wilson stated, disapproval splattered over his face.

"Yes. It's the simplest method."

"And he's going to tell House that Alvie took the book from his shelf to donate it to you, because?"

"Because my place is really the humble abode of a collector who recognised this ancient tome for what it really was when he saw it in the pawn shop where Alvie toggled House's stuff." Cuddy gave Wilson one of her tight don't-mess-with-me smiles.

"And Lucas just happens to have a key to your place!"

"Lucas does **not **have a key to my place. But he and House have enough combined criminal energy to b&e within less than a minute, I'll bet. And if not, they can ring the bell and my babysitter will open the door for them." Cuddy gave Wilson a challenging stare. "Look, I don't know what your issue is here, but you've been insinuating endless stuff ever since I got here. What exactly is your problem? You didn't want House any more. Fine, **I'm **taking him on now. If it doesn't suit you, then say so!"

"I ... don't see how this helps. House is getting worse, not better! You proposed this move to avoid having him committed. How does it improve the situation if he's alone in an apartment where he's hallucinating even weirder scenarios than before and where he needs round-the-clock surveillance by ..." Wilson stopped, struck by another thought. "Why is Lucas doing this for you?"

"Because I'm paying through my nose for it!"

"How long do you mean to do that? ... Do you get what I mean? This can't continue indefinitely, and as far as I can see, we're worse off than before!"

Cuddy bit her lower lip before she admitted, "It wasn't my idea to have him committed; it was Foreman's. He's given me a deadline after which he'll file a petition. Either I can prove to him till then that House is no danger or ..."

"And this was your great idea - to have House live by himself when he can't even cope while living with me!"

"If we don't trust him to cope outside the hospital, then Foreman is right in objecting to his presence **in **the hospital."

Wilson pointed an accusing finger at Cuddy. "You're doing this to prove to me that I have to get him committed! I - I can't believe this! You're encouraging him to endanger himself to force my hand!"

"I believe that living alone might improve his condition," Cuddy stated baldly.

"And you're founding this crazy hypothesis on what?" Wilson's voice rose hysterically. "Hallucinating Alvie when he's been Alvie-free since Mayfield does not strike me as an improvement!"

"Being with you could be exacerbating his condition." She counted off on her fingers as she spoke, "You treat an old friend - House thinks you're endangering your life by donating a lobe of your liver; you don't furnish the condo - he interprets it as a sign that you don't consider your living arrangement a permanent fixture; you resume contact with Sam - he sees you remarried and himself sleeping under a bridge. If he can be made to see that he can cope without you, he may stop overreacting to everything you do."

"So it's entirely **my **fault."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that we need a different strategy."

"Well, this one sounds like a mixture of wishful thinking and misguided optimism to me."

Cuddy rose to go. "Let me know if you have a better idea," she snapped.

**

* * *

XVI: Help Me**

_Which explains why deans and cripples hang out at disaster sites and confirms our lurking suspicions that Wilson is the mastermind behind the touching season finale._

Wilson pressed the balls of his hands hard against his eyes in an effort to push the fatigue to the back of his head.

"Dr Wilson, can we have you over here please?" a nurse behind him asked, touching his elbow. Wilson sighed, pasted a smile onto his face and turned to the next bed. The ER was chock-a-block full, although it was five a.m. and the disaster had taken place over ten hours ago.

Cuddy suddenly materialised at his side. "Where's House?" She was still dressed in the blue overall that marked her as a member of the PPTH emergency team and she looked as frazzled as he felt. She tugged at his arm when he didn't respond straightaway.

"Excuse me," Wilson said to the patient He moved slightly away from the patient bay. "I thought he was with you."

"I sent him back in an ambulance and followed in my car."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't anticipate your intentions and drop everything here in the ER to go to the ambulance bay to receive him."

"So you haven't seen him."

"No. Can I go back now?" Wilson waved a tired arm at his patient.

"Damn! Where could he be?" Raising herself on her toes, Cuddy peered around the ER. Then she held out her hand. "Give me your key to his apartment." Wilson dug in his pocket for his keys. When he found them, he removed one from the ring and proffered it to Cuddy. She took it and turned to go.

"Wait!" Wilson said. "Why are you so worried about House? He's been at his apartment for a week now and so far he's been fine."

"We had a major altercation," Cuddy said after a moment's hesitation. She drew Wilson further aside. "He ... okay, **first **he thought Lucas and I had bought a house and were moving in together so he gave me a house-warming present."

"Yeah, he told me - your great-grandfather's book, the one that he and Lucas must've stolen from your place. You should be happy to have it back."

"I should be so lucky!" Cuddy snorted. "No, I figure it's his high school biology textbook. Maybe someday I'll be able to sell it on ebay - as a special edition illustrated by the illustrious Dr Gregory House before he came to fame. Do all sophomores carry out such detailed pencil studies of the female anatomy?"

"Uh, yes."

"I tried not to react to that - I had no idea how to react to that. Somehow that gave him the idea that I was hiding something ...," Cuddy drew a hand through her hair.

"You are."

"Not about Lucas and me," Cuddy claimed. "We're certainly **not **getting married, which was House's next idea. So he went crawling into a pile of rubble which promptly collapsed on him. Luckily the EMTs could get him out. I patched him up and, yes, I was upset. Next thing I knew we were yelling at each other about Lucas and heaven knows what, and it was all totally stupid, because none of what he was accusing me of is real, so finally I walked away." She suited her actions to her words by heading out of the ER to her office.

Wilson followed her, trying to catch all the words of the tale that she threw at him over her shoulder. "When I didn't see anything of him for the next hour or so I assumed that he'd left in a huff, but it seems he went crawling back into another pile of rubble where, unfortunately, there was a dead woman. He stayed next to her, thinking she was still alive and that he could help her, and that was where one of the EM techs found him later when we patrolled the site to make sure everyone was gone. I packed him into the last ambulance and phoned Foreman to pick him up at this end, but Foreman phoned me while I was on my way back to say that House totally lost it here, saying he killed the woman. So I've got to go check on House and then get home to Rachel." Cuddy unlocked her office door and entered, casting a quick glance at her watch.

"Wow. You really screwed that up, didn't you?" Wilson leaned against the doorframe, watching her unzip her overall.

Cuddy swung around. "Screw you, Wilson!"

"Why the hell did you take him with you to Trenton, anyway? It's not as though he's of much use at a disaster site."

"You'd be surprised. He can't perform any medical procedures, but he has the best eye around for triage."

"It's still completely insane! What if he had performed a medical procedure there without you noticing it?"

"There was considerably less likelihood of that happening at the site than here. In Trenton there was just triage and the kind of dirty work that's definitely beneath House. And even if he'd chipped in and done something, who'd remember him afterwards in the chaos and darkness? There were limping guys everywhere. Over here there was a possibility that he'd decide to help out ..."

"Oh, come on, not really!" Wilson scoffed.

"Serious cases only, the ER understaffed, something catches his eye and hey, presto! Afterwards someone remembers the gimpy-legged rude jerk without lab coat or ID, wonders if he was really a doctor and whether they couldn't make a mint suing the hospital." Cuddy stepped out of the overall, balled it and threw it into a corner.

"Fine. And why did **you **go to Trenton and leave me to deal with the mess here?"

"Because, as House never hesitates to point out, he's not the only one at this hospital who shouldn't be carrying out medical procedures." Cuddy threw Wilson an appealing look. "Wilson, in the clinic I get to swab crotches, draw a bit of blood every now and then, and take temperatures. Anything more than that, and the patient gets admitted. I'd have been virtually useless here. Besides, I knew the ER would be an all-night affair - you're nowhere near done here - and Marina is off the clock in - crap, in an hour. I've got to run." Cuddy, still in her scrubs, grabbed the pile of clothes that lay on the couch.

"Doesn't she normally stay the night when you have an emergency here?"

"It's practically morning and she has a few days off to attend her sister's wedding. She needs to catch a flight, so I have to get home, especially if I want to swing by House's place first." She picked her purse up from her desk and headed for the door. "No, I'd better pick Rachel up and take her to House's place."

Wilson stepped out and watched her lock her office. "Great," he said tiredly. "Phone me when you find him."

His phone rang fifty minutes later. "Wilson?"

"Yes?"

Cuddy's voice was muted. "I'm at House's apartment ..." The rest was lost because the patient in the bed next to the woman Wilson was attending to was moaning incessantly.

Wilson held a hand over his free ear and turned away from the beds. "Could you speak a bit louder? I can't ..."

"No!" Cuddy's voice hissed. "Go somewhere where it's quiet."

Wilson moved to a corner of the ER where there were no patients any more. "Okay. What's up?"

"I'm in the apartment. He's ... he's sitting on the floor of his bathroom." Cuddy sounded slightly panicky.

"What's he doing there?" Wilson asked patiently.

"Nothing. Just sitting. Staring at his hands."

Wilson pictured the scene in his mind. He asked the question he'd been hoping to avoid, "Has he ... taken something?"

"I have no idea." There was a short silence, then Cuddy's voice returned, even quieter and tense. "There's a hole in the wall where the mirror should be and a pill bottle, no, two pill bottles next to him. I think he's got pills in his hands."

"Stop him!"

"How?" Cuddy's voice slid up a few notes. "He's stronger than me. If he wants to take them he can. Can't you get out here?"

"Cuddy, it would take at least twenty minutes till I'm at House's place. **You** need to fix this."

"How?"

"Use your words." Wilson massaged the bridge of his nose, dredging up the last vestiges of concentration. "House is giving in to his abandonment issues here. He thinks I kicked him out and now he's convinced you're going to ride off into the sunset with Lucas. Persuade him that you're doing nothing of the sort. Tell him that you and Lucas have split up."

"When is that supposed to have happened? I've been at the site all night."

"Who cares? A year ago House chose to believe that you agreed to help him detox in his own four walls – tell me, how likely was that? He'll believe you because that's what he wants to believe."

"He won't. He thinks Lucas is right for me."

"He doesn't!" Wilson said indignantly.

"Yes, he does. He considers Lucas a loser, but in his opinion that's what I want: someone who is safe, who'll be a good dad for Rachel and whom I can boss around. He'll never believe I dumped him."

"You dumped Lucas because you realised that you love House, not Lucas," Wilson improvised.

"Wilson, that's ...," Cuddy sounded shocked.

Wilson put every ounce of conviction he could muster into his voice. "It's a lot truer than what he believes at the moment. Are you dating Lucas? No. Do you love House? Yes."

"I'm very fond of him, but ..." Cuddy evaded.

"Cuddy, you've spent years protecting House, endangering your job and career in the process. You worry and cluck over him like a mother hen. And heaven knows you've lied for him to save his skin: to the court, to the board and to every bloody committee we have at the hospital. I don't think 'fondness' is the right word to describe whatever motivates you there. You've also lied to him before; this is **not** the time to claim a high moral ground." Wilson gave the phone at his ear a shake, as though the gesture could be transferred to Cuddy's shoulders. "At the moment he thinks you hate him. If you think that what you feel for him - whatever you choose to call it - is closer to hate than to love, then go away and let him swallow the pills. Otherwise get in there and stop him. Now!"

END SEASON 6

**

* * *

Final Note: I'm working on Season 7, but as long as I don't see where that is going it is difficult to plan ahead. I have the rough draft of the first chapter more or less completed. The Season 6 re-write is thus complete, the Season 7 one will be up sometime under as a separate fic. **


End file.
